Food envy is charming in a way because it occurs in a situation where others are present, which necessitates a form of sharing. We’ve all had that moment when the plates are set before us and we are forced to admit that we too should have order the duck rather than the steak. So we use numerous strategies in order to at least finagle a sample of the more desirable preparation. Sometimes, as a result of the swap of bites, we uncover that both parties have affinities for the alternate dish and an official plate exchange takes place. Futterneid can therefore create a positive desire to interact.

Another aspect of envy at the table is that it motivates action and leads individuals to be more democratic in their choices. After a few instances of feeling futterneid, one might be tempted to use a different approach when consulting a menu and consider deviating from the usual choices that appeal. Thinking differently is the first step towards acting differently and thus innovation. Once again, we note that futterneid can have positive consequences as it can lead to more diverse future dining experiences.

But envy is not jealousy. Whereas envy is the desire to have something one doesn’t yet, jealousy is the fear of losing something one already has (or thinks they have). Jealousy has a rival notion and so sharing is quite verboten as it may jeopardize the standing of one to the other and lead to a perceived potential loss. In the domain of food, which I think must remain democratic, jealousy should not exist. Food is about exchange, openness, discussions and gathering. If chefs were jealous, they would never produce dishes because the fear of having their ideas stolen would be too great. A winemaker would never release a vintage out of fear that it would all be drunk and he would no longer have a testament to his greatness. Book authors would never print their recipes, etc.

So when jealousy reared its ugly head (blond in this case) recently regarding my presence at a food related event about a food related topic, I quite lost my appetite. It was especially surprising because I had no idea what I was potentially threatening or how I could be in a position to prevent the offended party from acquiring and/or maintaining their status.

Later it dawned on me that it wasn’t a question of haves and haves not in this case, but perhaps just a very convoluted way of being made aware that my choices have an impact. A wise man once said: “If you don’t have any critics, then you’re in trouble because it means that no one cares about you”. Essentially, the abrasive reaction I experienced recently was a way of letting me know that I had or was something my detractor desired and in that sense, it was a validation. No one wants to operate in a vacuum where their choices don’t at least make a ripple and perhaps for this person it was a tsunami and that comes with the territory of being in a public forum – not everyone will be a fan. But I can at least make the distinction between these two effects and thus decide to which I should pay attention to. When someone has futterneid around me, I consider it a compliment as it signals they appreciate my choices. When someone exhibits jealousy towards me, I also consider it flattering because it means I’m different and perhaps capable of sparking discussion. And that’s an impact I am very proud to be able to create…

Here are the pieces that appeared on this site in the past week, in case you missed one (use the search engine at the top of the page to access these and others):

• Restaurant
• La Feuille de Menthe
• Wine & Drink
• Two Wines – A Learning Experience
• Discoveries & Ingredients
• Ranch Les Beaux Bisons
• Info – books, events, etc.
• Seasonal Produce Reference
• Recipes & Attempts
• The Healthiest Burgers Ever
• Wine Crate
• Things you don’t want to hear…

I once had that happen with a dessert I didn’t botch and for a very discerning audience. A lovely rosemary cornmeal crust tart with lemon mascarpone cream and sliced pears. Deliciously light and luxurious at the same time, it was the type of dessert I would order in a restaurant and be wishing the portion had been bigger. And the fact that I managed to evoke that feeling from myself by myself was almost awkward – that’s how uncommon that feeling is for me in the baking department. And my guests? They were convinced I was just being modest about my lack of skills in the confectionary department – how disappointed they may be in the future…

These days, while I’m still cooking in my kitchen, I’m also cooking up a storm of data (in the totally objective sense, of course) and I am in complete awe at the whole process. For those of you who knew about it and had the time to fill it out, the results of my recent survey are in and now the best and scariest part of the process needs to take place – analysis. For months I have been talking about, anticipating, postulating and presuming all these theoretical concepts that I would ideally reveal with the compilation of 2 months worth of rankings and ratings. Easy to claim and wish, definitely harder to actually sit and face SPSS (stats software) on my laptop and click on the “analyse” button. Believe me, when the status bar says “running reliability…” for 2 seconds, it feels like 100 hours.

Like baking, statistics is not my forte and so I look forward to working in that domain as much as burning myself on the oven door when taking out a cake. But it’s a necessary part of the process, like dishes, that will inevitably lead to some conclusions, hopefully positive and able to contribute to the sciences of marketing. And just like baking, the art of uncovering meaningful results from a long list of numbers and tests requires patience and attention with a sprinkle of flexibility. And so far, it’s looking promising, but I still have to wait – it’s not done yet.

The problem with this is that I’m not a generally patient person… When I decide to move forward with something, I like to be able to work immediately towards results and to have an overall idea of what the outcome will be. As per last week’s post, I tend to be more comfortable when allowed a bit of control over situations in my life. But with statistics, and a data set that is culled from the general public, this cannot be the case. Rather than tell those numbers what they need to be disclosing and what I want them to confirm, I have to let them do the talking and on their terms.

The commonality with baking here becomes almost comical with the precise measures and procedures. Consider any complex cake. The batter must be well made, the cream properly whipped, the chocolate not burned and separated and the fruit puree properly strained. Yet, and as with primary research, even if all these are individually well executed, there is no guarantee that once in the mold and in the oven that the contents won’t seep out through the loose cracks of the springform pan. The oven itself could decide no longer to work or be too hot or too cold, the cake may not rise completely, or at the end of the experiment, the cake may just refuse to unmold.

I started this research project with a good theoretical base, executed several steps always with the guidance of esteemed researchers, backed my actions by published and proven methods and with total objectivity. Now that I have my 200+ respondents, nicely entered in my spreadsheet, I can only anticipate that this will all serve a purpose. And while anxiety nearly killed me before starting the process, it is slowly subsiding as I uncover the dimensions, limit the variance and check my alphas. The picture that is emerging is slightly different than I thought but that’s not a bad thing at all and I find myself smiling because I really like the process of the investigation, and maybe I kind of like this type of statistical analysis… But mostly, I am surprised by the passion it has ignited in me. I’m so engrossed with this data set that it keeps me up at night and has me talking about it to anyone who will listen. And like a baker, I’ve actually gotten up earlier than I need to in order to work on it.

I am beginning to accept that there are some things I may not want to be good at but may have a knack for and also realizing that some of my personality features, patience for example, will be tested at time and that these will significantly affect my approach to tasks – perhaps in a positive way. The biggest revelation this week for me was that there is no greater satisfaction for us impatient ones like the reveal – and so we embark on journeys even if it means that we’ll have to wait, put in a lot of effort at obscene hours of the day and work through them to get to the sweet centre we know is there. Stay tuned…

Here are the pieces that appeared on this site in the past week, in case you missed one (use the search engine at the top of the page to access these and others):

• Restaurant
• Spring Menu at La Table des Jardins Sauvages
• Discoveries & Ingredients
• Lemon-Salt Almonds
• Jamon Iberico de Recebo
• Info – books, events, etc.
• Meet an Author: Taras Grescoe
• Random Facts
• Fiascos
• Wine Crate
• Food Frames: Take 18

And after writing the previous sentence, I find myself questioning why on earth I would ever be attracted to food and wine, seeing as how both these domains require some sort of a gamble.Pick up a fruit and you can guestimate the freshness and quality. Of course there are signs and cues that one can use as guides, but it’s never a guarantee. And then coupled with the high probability of human error in preparation, the act of cooking seems like a quite a risky venture.

A few months ago, I found a great cake recipe by a well-known author of Middle Eastern cuisine. This culinary icon also happens to be the cousin of a very close friend of mine. So one weekend, as part of my contribution to a meal Margaret and I decided to concoct together, I offered to bake this infamous and personal gateau. It’s an odd recipe on paper but the premise seems right and I figured the author has published numerous books, she has to know what she’s talking about.

So I went out of my way to find organic oranges and began to tackle the task of baking. From the get go, I was confused. “Boil the oranges for two hours”. Okay… are they entirely submerged? Do I cover the pot? Already, my anxiety level is high and the onslaught of questions cropping up as I keep reading the recipe aren’t boosting my very delicate baking self-esteem level. I spare you the gruesome details but in short, I ended up burning the oranges, not greasing the pan (I wasn’t advised to) and not unmolding soon enough so half the cake remained in the pan and had to be carefully removed and then in artfully replaced on top. Not to mention that although the recipe said 50 minutes in the oven, it was charred on the edges at 30. Add the lemons on top was my attempt at making this cake “pretty”.

When I got into the car the next day, I looked at Margaret and I told her that even if they are related, I’m not impressed with her cousin and because of my horrid experience, and because she shared the recipe with me in the first place, I am expecting her to sample the cake nonetheless. She looks at me with a big smile and says: “I meant to tell you that my cousin is better known as a culinary historian than the recipe maven…” Thanks for telling me, after the fact. The cake turned out not to be that terrible after all, but I promised that I would never make that recipe again. It just took too much of a toll on my confidence and patience. After that experience, I only made the recipes that I make fantastically well, and could in my sleep, for about a month to regain some shred of esteem.

In the past few weeks however, I’ve been making a lot of loaves and breads and desserts. I don’t know why. I’ve been generally nice to people and I got good grades…So I haven’t done anything really worthy of atonement lately and don’t really merit the bitter taste of burnt baked goods. Interestingly enough, the results of my attempts have actually been total successes. See the Healthy Loaf recipe as an example (click here). And this Sunday I baked a tasty Swedish rye bread, a special order for a friend.

Ironically, I don’t have more control over the outcome of these recipes than I did the flops of yesterdays. And I’m realizing that perhaps there are times in life when you just have to wing it. I know this because of all the bread recipes I have attempted in the past month, not one was completed as per the exact instructions – a very serious gamble for someone as challenged as me in this domain and as controlling. Yet the results have been better than expected. So maybe, just maybe, I should capitalize on this unexplained talent that is surely fleeting but right now extremely rewarding. And while I don’t know what the loaves of the future will taste like, I want to be able to look back one day and be proud that I embraced this moment of freedom, one that can only come from the release of control…

In other news, if you haven’t already, I encourage you to take a few moments to complete my online survey, part of a research project I am putting together in the scope of the PhD studies. It takes no more than a coffee break’s worth of time and you’ll be entirely satiated by the knowledge that you are helping out a student and contributing to the marketing sciences!

https://www.surveymonkey.com/s.aspx?sm=nRNXcEZY_2bFL_2fe0jDPhyhTA_3d_3d

Here are the pieces that appeared on this site in the past week, in case you missed one (use the search engine at the top of the page to access these and others):

• My newsletter
• The May Edition – Renewal
• Wine & Drink
• Huet in Vouvray
• Discoveries & Ingredients
• Halibut Cheeks
• Tourte Grains Bio
• Info – books, events, etc.
• Cod by M. Kurlansky
• Recipes & Attempts
• Haroseth
• Wine Crate
• Silly Things Waiters Hear: IV

And then, Vito made me realize that there are some very redeeming qualities to change.

There is a period during the year, only about 3 weeks starting in mid-April, when the almond tree yields the first expression of its fruit. We all know the almond as a hard nut, but when it is first formed, it is the furthest thing from. Green almonds are an unripe fruit – the exterior is sturdy and fuzzy and the interior contains a gelatinous kernel what as the season progresses, becomes the firm almond kernel we refer to as the nut. It is a typical product in the Middle East, where the entire fruit is eaten, often dipped in salt water, and served with an aperitif. You eat the entire thing for a tangy-tart, herbaceous snack or you can break apart the dichotomous exterior and just eat the kernel. Since mine were the first of the season, I enjoyed them whole because I liked how the substantial exterior, once bitten, offered a contrasting soft filling with the jammy almond kernel.

These fresh almonds are an experience and unlike anything I had ever tried. And Vito was aware of this. See, Vito and I have this unspoken understanding that sharing is good and there are few things as pleasant as watching another undergo a food revelation. Through our trusty messenger Anna (who has at times consumed some goods in transit – we’ll call that shipping fees) we have exchanged Italian plums for Swiss cookies and Sicilian olives for specialty breads. There were also a few pears and mint thrown into the mix last summer. It’s a wonderful relationship.

Last week, totally unannounced, Vito decided we were starting another round of discovery and I found myself with a bag of the aforementioned. These were so foreign to me, I had to use “Googl-eh”, as Vito would call it, to learn more about them. I even passed them on to a few foodie friends so we could marvel at them together.

As is often the case with food for me, it’s never just about the items being consumed, but mostly about the thought behind the offer. Vito made me realize with those almonds that my sometimes bumpy personal journey had actually opened the door for our exchanges. Had I not endured the tough moments and the decisions that resulted from them, I wouldn’t have had to find an alternate source for Basler Läckerli (see December 2007 newsletter), fallen so in love with my new found suppliers’ products that I forced all those in my path to try some, and had Anna bring some to Vito at my urging.

I’ll always cherish new foodstuff passed on by a fellow epicurean, trying them with new friends who share a similar passion, at the market or even in the wee hours of the morning, pre-workout, when I make many exchanges with fellow food amateurs. It is no secret that my curiosity to try new products is never satisfied and I yearn for moments like I had last week with those novel green almonds. Munching on them this week it occurred to me that consuming them was a type of celebration – a very typical Nathalie way to relish the moment. All of a sudden, this alternative form of merriment was revealed as infinitely superior to what I had originally envisioned. I might have been in a blue mood but adding these green wonders made the lens through which I saw the subsequent days decidedly rosier. Grazie mille Vito!

In other news, if you haven’t already, I encourage you to take a few moments to complete my online survey, part of a research project I am putting together in the scope of the PhD studies. It takes no more than a coffee break’s worth of time and you’ll be entirely satiated by the knowledge that you are helping out a student and contributing to the marketing sciences!

https://www.surveymonkey.com/s.aspx?sm=nRNXcEZY_2bFL_2fe0jDPhyhTA_3d_3d

Here are the pieces that appeared on this site in the past week, in case you missed one (use the search engine at the top of the page to access these and others):

• Discoveries & Ingredients
• Murcia al vino
• Info – books, events, etc.
• Iron Chef Montreal
• Recipes & Attempts
• Turnips: flavour affinities
• Random facts
• Why are they called “Super Tuscans”
• Great Food Quotes: Jelly
• Wine Crate
• Food frames: Take 17

It’s Friday morning and the realization that she needs to make this starch component for her dinner party on Saturday is marked with despair. She’s never made it before and even though I have shown her how, the thought of it just seems overwhelming. So I volunteered. And then I insisted. Finally I told her that I was going to make it anyway and that if she didn’t come by and pick it up, she would feel even guiltier. So she accepted, I made it and she came by to get it. It’s how I was able to help a friend in need and in a way that I knew I could.

Even when I was younger, I always hated it when people would tell me in sad situations that things would turn out okay, not to worry and all the other stuff people are supposed to say to those who are down. What didn’t sit well with me was the notion that there was no way to tell if it really was going to works itself out and that some situations are in fact just awful and can’t be made better. Some circumstances require us to experience hurt and sorrow and it’s from those that we learn to rise again. So because I never bought into the fallacy that all scenarios have silver linings and never developed the capacity of positive spin, I use another strategy to help those in need. I feed them.

Feeding someone to quell their distress or attempt to rectify situations isn’t a new concept, and the reason it’s still around is because it works. It’s called comfort food because it does just that – ease the soul. Food is at every occasion whether it’s happy or gloomy. We congregate at weddings buffets, at birthday dinners, at funeral wakes and in the cafeterias of hospitals.

The reason for the presence of food at virtually all life passages is simple: food is a way that we can communicate without using words. When my friend tells me about the hours that spends at the hospital, the fears she has regarding her sibling’s ability to cope, how much she wants to show her support and how incapable she thinks she is, I can tell her that she is wrong, but she doesn’t hear that because that’s not what she feels inside. Consoling her with reassuring words may ease her insecurities but it doesn’t make them go away and certainly doesn’t prevent them from growing exponentially. And so I rely on the cliché that actions speak louder than words.

She has a dinner party to plan on Saturday, amidst a flurry of appointments, coordinating schedules, attempting to manage the usual day-to-day and coping with her own emotions. On the Monday, she tells me she wants to make fish and… Well, that’s about as much thought as she’s given it and it’s stressing her out. So I plan the rest of her menu. She is grateful and I see a flash of doubt in her eyes but I don’t push her – it seems like enough people are doing that these days. As the week progresses, we talk about how she’s managing without ever mentioning the planned festivities and it’s only on Friday morning that she blurts out that she can’t believe she needs to make this meal and we near a total meltdown.

Any other time, this would have been an easy to prepare meal for her but these days, it seems like the work it entails is worthy of 18 chefs. So I tell her that I’m making her starch dish, the polenta, because it’s the only one she’s never made and I know this is not sitting well with her. She’s polite and refuses my offer and I respond with, “It’s not an option, it’s a done deal. It’ll be ready for you when you finish work.” We do not speak of the polenta again. She come by at 5pm, I pass her the package, hug her and at the last minute, throw into her bag a few sprigs of fresh basil from a plant I acquired at the market that morning because I know she loves the scent. We exchange but a few formalities but I can see by the look in her eyes that something seems just a bit calmer and while I haven’t told her that the grief she feels will dissipate, I have shown her in my own way, that I can help her through it, one dish at a time.

Here are the pieces that appeared on this site in the past week, in case you missed one (use the search engine at the top of the page to access these and others):

• Restaurant
• Chez Benny
• Wine & Drink
• A Franc Revelation
• Discoveries & Ingredients
• Branche by Callier
• Info – books, events, etc.
• Food Blog Search
• Recipes & Attempts
• Cod en papillote
• Wine Crate
• Food frames: Take 16

Pictured here is a product that everyone in their life needs to try at least once and then many, many more times. This is French unpasteurised butter, procured from the Fromagerie Atwater. Yes, unpasteurised and because of that fact, yes, unbelievably good. Flown in from the Gallic homeland, this is 250 grams of perfection. I don’t know if the cows are treated really well, the farmer is properly subsidized, or if the grass is magical in Isigny-sur-mer (in the Canton of Calvados in Northwest France) and to tell you the truth, it doesn’t really matter. What is happening over there, at Isigny-Ste-Mère where this butter is made, is phenomenal and I implore them not to change a thing.

Not so long ago this sort of product was not available on this side of the pond. Well, perhaps it was to the elite few but I wasn’t one of them and thank goodness for that. And the only reason I can say this post my ode in the previous paragraph is because this lovely container of butter will set you back $18.00. That’s about $0.07 a gram.

Now considering that the average pound of butter at the grocery store costs $4.79 ( www.iga.net ), why would anyone ever pay 3.75 times that price for some foreign product in spiffy packaging? Good question. However, having tasted the product, I now consider myself an economist as I have rationalised my demand for this butter and can justify that this product very much fits on my indifference curve in comparison to the alternatives. I will even divulge my theorem to you by highlighting the fundamental laws of consumer behaviour because the utility of this bundle of dairy satisfaction certainly warrants the purchase of this product.

Let’s use the macro perspective first by looking at the kitchen as a whole first and then we’ll get micro in terms of butter specifically.

Paying $20 for a food item is really not that uncommon. You’ll buy a pie for $15-$20. You’ll buy a few cheeses for that amount. A roast for sure. Some of us spend that much on lunch or dinner everyday. A bottle of nice olive oil is a great example and can also be classified in the same category (fats). One of the main reasons we may not hesitate to spend on olive oil is partially linked to the fact that it will last a couple of weeks, thus justifying cost – it’s not a fleeting moment, it’s a purchase that can be amortized. Interestingly, so can butter. It’s not because you have a container in your fridge that you can’t portion some of it out and freeze it. Needless to say, this is not the butter you’ll fry something in, this is butter for impeccable breads, for finishing sauces and sautés and for attentive consumption. As such, the portion that you keep in the fridge will last you a couple of weeks and because it is semi-salted, so it won’t go rancid. With the other portions in the freezer, you’ll be able to make this 250 grams last quite a while.

Now from a micro perspective, let’s look at the butter options available out there. There are all sorts of products, flavours, types, milks, salt variations, etc. The one thing they all have in common however is pasteurisation. So what? So that means that all the delicate flavours in the milk that come from what the cows eat in the fields (optimally) get cooked away in an effort to remove “bacteria” that might be harmful. That’s why most butters taste the same, save for the salt content. When you eat unpasteurised butter, you actually taste the flowers and grasses (in a good way). Not to mention that the texture of the butter is creamier and not quite so “oily” for lack of a better word. Comparatively, it would be silly to attempt to justify that these products are even analogous. The indifference curve used to represent this scenario would possibly not even apply because there really shouldn’t be a Good Y to this Good X and there are no substitutes.

Thus when recapping this situation, it becomes clear that there should be high demand for this product because the quality is high and it is natural for consumers to expect the highest quality when making purchases. Justification for paying for this product also comes from the multiple benefits to be reaped: extended enjoyment potential, superior taste, capacity to augment the value offering of complementary goods (putting this on baguette elevates the experience of combining the two) and general aesthetic appeal of the cute packaging. In my opinion, this is an entirely optimized situation. And if you still don’t buy it (the butter or my argument for it), I can console myself in knowing that there will be more supply out there for me.

Here are the pieces that appeared on this site in the past week, in case you missed one (use the search engine at the top of the page to access these and others):

• Wine & Drink
• Torrontés – Argentinian White
• Meeting Wine Makers
• Discoveries & Ingredients
• French Breakfast Radishes
• Info – books, events, etc.
• In Defence of Food by M. Pollan
• Recipes & Attempts
• My New Favourite Snack
• Random Facts
• Fish Pseudonyms
• Take Away
• Wine_Spirits_Shows

There are some things that I do not understand. Why is it that when I watch a pot, it never boils but when I walk away it overflows? Why is it that people still eat white “chocolate”? Why can’t I, for the life of me, go to the market with only one thing to buy and actually leave with only that item and nothing more? And there are other conundrums that I ponder on a regular basis. A recurrent theme though is my amazement at how many things I have yet to try and why was I not made aware of them sooner. I think I just answered my third question…

Since moving out of the parental home many years ago, I have defined my own food preferences. No longer bound by the choices of others or the preferences of those I shared a table with, I was able to explore. It took me a few years to shake off some habits that I now consider rather unsavoury (yes, I used to eat crab flakes). But the end result was that I managed to widen my food catalogue and my epicurean vocabulary grew exponentially. Just a peruse of this site demonstrates the learning of the past few months. Oranges are no longer just navel and chanterelle mushrooms do come in a blue variety, to name a few examples. But simultaneously, I have also become a stickler for quality. Discovering asparagus is good, having a locally grown asparagus in the middle of May is divine. The biggest problem with this type of metacognition is that there is no going back. Once you know the good from the bad, you’re prepared to forfeit the item entirely in order not to compromise an experience.

When I started buying nuts from a reputable store rather than the grocery store, I realized that walnuts weren’t supposed to have that dusty flavour and how amazing a dry roasted almond could be. Hazelnuts and pecans were almost sweet so devoid were they of a rancid nuance. As with most items that I fall in love with, the next step was to have all those in my entourage sample them as well, a means to pass on and share the immense joy I got from such pristine products. Most partakers had similar revelations, except one. I was baffled.

The explanation for his behaviour was humbling and deep. It is still something I mull over from time to time. He had grown up in a small European village and had very little, much of which came from the garden. His stories of being force-fed overcooked fennel make you understand the root of food aversions. Needless to say, if an orange in December was a rarity, nuts, when they made an appearance, were meant to be savoured and a small bag would be consumed over many weeks (months). It goes without saying that the freshness factor of these treasures was probably not a consideration. As such, this person acquired a taste for rancid nuts. So when I would bring him some nut samples and then inquire a few weeks later if he desired some more, he would reply that he had plenty left and they were wonderful.

Even with many attempts, even the conniving ones like passing off new for old in an attempt to make him abandon his affinity for stale hazelnuts, I was never successful. It used to frustrate me tremendously – why, why, why? And one day, after seeing him munch happily on old walnuts, I began to understand. He wasn’t eating those rancid snacks because he actually liked the way they tasted – he ate them because they were more than anything, a source of comfort.

It is sometimes scarier to think of exposing yourself to the new or accepting that a change is perspective and perception is due, than to just promote the status quo. Food can be a source of novel experiences as it can be an way to feel grounded. That’s perhaps why all my good days start with toast and peanut butter but what follows is anyone’s guess, including my own. It’s the balance between predictable and random. For the person in question, who I’d seen once eat snails (and like them), consuming humid almonds and bitter pecans is a habit he holds fast to because it’s his familiar. So while I don’t understand why he chooses to assault his taste buds this way, I have to respect his desire to placate his soul. Eating them seems to give him happiness, which was the main reason I shared nuts with him in the first place. That’s something I can understand and thus helps me find peace regarding his inclination.

Here are the pieces that appeared on this site in the past week, in case you missed one (use the search engine at the top of the page to access these and others):

• My Newsletter
• The April edition - Awakenings
• Restaurant
• Graziella
• Wine & Drink
• Cellier Tasting Notes: Italians
• Discoveries & Ingredients
• Honey 101
• Recipes & Attempts
• Healthy Loaf
• The Wine Crate
• Silly Things Waiters Hear: III
• Food Frames: Take 15

For those who aren’t familiar with their French name, you may know them as hot cross buns in English. They are made with a rich dough dotted with the occasional piece of raisin and/or candied fruit peel and usually baked in bunches. Their dark brown crusts are broken up with white dough crosses, mimicking the seminal icon of this key Catholic observance period.

The thing with Lent is that it’s supposed to be a period of contrition, of sad thoughts and withheld desires. Most believers go without such pleasures as chocolate, sweets, alcohol and/or meat for a period of forty days to commemorate the ultimate sacrifice. After Mardi Gras, the final debauchery before the start of Lent on Ash Wednesday, the hangovers and queasy stomachs probably make the proposed forfeit(s) easier to accept and digest. For others however, prospect of almost six weeks of “no-fun” could easily make them atheists.

Interestingly, this is probably the period of the year when I am the most religious – completely committed to a diet of hot cross buns, preferably hot from the oven... And while my devout thoughts regarding hot cross buns remain the same as they were in my childhood, the denomination I adhere to as an adult is not.

As a child, I loved those mechanically made buns that my mom bought in packs of 8 from the grocery store. They were overloaded with raisins and I never quite figured out why the white dough of the crust always had a similar texture to modeling clay and how it stayed white. But back them, I didn’t ask too many questions, other than could I have another and where is the salted butter? Yet as with most moments of joy, the satisfaction I got from those baked goodies was fleeting. Last year, I learned rather painfully that I had officially become an adult when I bought those same supermarket buns. As I consumed them, I realized that they didn’t really taste good and then, they gave me wicked heartburn and made me queasy from the preservatives and excess sugar.

I was utterly devastated by the idea that an emblem of my youth could disappoint so much. For the rest of Lent 2007, I could only glare at those displays of processed “buns”, with their chewy texture and allure hiding the obvious disappointment to come. I went so far as to forgo any and all versions of hot crossed buns that Easter period, even from nice artisanal bakeries – total penitence.

It is in this period of introspection that I had an epiphany. My tastes had evolved. As a child, anything other than “chocolat” or "raisin" was generally “dégelasse” and I would crinkle my nose and say something verbose like “ouach” to an abricotine with its pastry cream. Today, hand me an orange flower water and almond croissant but don’t blink, otherwise all you’ll see is crumbs and a Cheshire-esque grin on my face.

So this year, in the spirit of forgiveness, I gave hot cross buns another shot, buying them at Le Fromentier. In terms of quality, hot cross buns from this fancy bakery are great – luscious butter-based brioche dough dotted with different raisins. In terms of nostalgia however, they don’t even come close to those factory made preservative-filled buns that dotted my childhood with joy. But as an adult, I can easily find other ways to enable epicurean bliss. I just have to remember that new experiences don’t have to be correlated to the moments that decorate the tableaus of my past culinary delights. Just like I respect ingredients for what they are and what they bring to a preparation, I should respect my food memories for what they meant “back then” and how they define “in the future”. One could therefore say that preservatives, in that sense, may not be such a bad thing…

Here are the pieces that appeared on this site in the past week, in case you missed one (use the search engine at the top of the page to access these and others):

• Wine & Drink
• Txacoli
• Discoveries & Ingredients
• Smoked Sturgeon
• Info & Events
• Montreal Wine & Spirits Show
• Recipes & Attempts
• Orange : flavour affinities
• Random Facts
• Standardizing Espresso
• The Wine Crate
• Food Frames: Take 14

It’s going to be spring next week and I apparently did not receive that memo. This oversight is confirmed when I look out my window, past the six feet of snow, the lakes of slush, and at the people in big down coats attempting to shield themselves from the blistering wind gusts. I’m tired of the white, brown and gray palate that can be found everywhere I turn. And last week, I was about to loose complete faith and begin looking at real estate in some friendlier climate when a trip to the market readjusted my perspective.

Pictured here is what I consider to be the first sign of spring. It is the trailer of one of my favorite farmers at the Atwater market. Last year, the family that owns this stall and doles out advice became a surrogate to my plate almost twice a week. Micheline and I would exchange chocolate samples and discuss the virtues of various cherry tomato varieties. It was through Guy that I learned why asparagus does better in cooler climates and that it truly can grow centimeters overnight. Don’t even get me started about their yellow corn. Les Jodoins inaugurate my market experience and are the last stop I make for purchases of fresh from the patches produce.

From April until November I follow the seasons with these local farmers and they followed my discoveries and witnessed my unleashed kitchen passions. I almost cried when they told me in October that they would be turning in for the winter in a few weeks. But the point of this ode to the Jodoins isn’t just about farmers in particular; it’s actually about a revelation that is particularly appropriate as we head into Easter weekend. The market is rising again…

I yearn for certain produce and products when I follow the seasons. Last week I thought of wild asparagus –wheat sheath looking sprouts that startled my palate last year. I actually purchase them every week and witnessed how they grow larger and acquire a more distinct flavour. It’s almost time for fresh Nordic shrimp that if you’re brave enough to buy unshelled, make for a messy but theatrical meal. Eat with Alaskan snow crab. Baby lamb needs no further discussion as its virtues are just too obvious. Even the cheeses will begin to change as the younger version of Comté, made during the winter, will make its way over to us. And then, the first Quebec strawberries, those little red bombs of pure delight that need to be eaten immediately and in large quantities.

Just thinking about what the near future will bring in terms of market offering is enough to brighten my day and get my mind racing with all the recipes I want to try. They are like old friends those ingredients at their prime, and I want to ensure that only their best qualities are highlighted. If we look forward to something, we always end up enjoying it more – we take care to appreciate the fleeting moments and ensure that we get as much satisfaction as possible. And just like in October I’ll be craving a great pot roast with root vegetables, I’ll take the time now to savour the anticipation of the first seasonal greens filling my basket.

Two things happen now when I look out my window at the often less than desirable weather that has typified the past few days. The first is I tell myself that while snow seems overrated today, I think it’s beautiful during those first snow falls in December, so I’ll accept that this is all part of winter, which is almost over. The second is that the Jodoin trailer is once again parked, albeit inactive, at the market and that the inevitable next development is that it will be once again stocked with fresh produce and populated by friendly faces. I can definitely wait for that.

Here are the pieces that appeared on this site in the past week, in case you missed one (use the search engine at the top of the page to access these and others):

• Inspiration
• Supermarket Anthropology
• Restaurant
• A “Wild” Maple Experience
• Wine & Drink
• Novel Nebbiolo
• Discoveries & Ingredients
• Ugli Fruit
• Info & Events
• Aubut – A shopping experience
• The Wine Crate
• Food Frames: Take 13

Being the owner or the purveyor of a corked bottle happens to all of us. Depending on how much we drink, it happens to some more often than others. Rarely is it a function of the price of the wine, usually it’s just a fluke, an unpredictable flaw. I’ve been to a tasting where a Chateau Margaux was corked just like I’ve purchased $12 Burgundies that exhibited the same properties. There is no way to avoid this situation if you’re willing to imbibe.

There are very few indicators of a corked wine when the bottle is intact. Generally, it looks like every other bottle, and don't be swayed into thinking that a fine label means anything either. Through the glass, it will look the same colour as if it were a good wine. It’s only until you remove the foil that you may get your first clue, but even then, it’s hard to be sure until you’ve actually removed the cork and begun engaging.

The thing is, in order to enjoy any wine, you have to take a chance and open it. What are the alternatives? In the case of wine, there aren’t many, other than just not to drink any. Corked wine is par for the course, just like the potential of rain on that special day, a delayed flight when you take a weekend trip and your choice restaurant running out of your favourite dish.

Yet there are some bottles that you wait for, those that you anticipate, that you may even think of collecting and treasuring. There are bottles, and regardless of the cost, that you either create opportunities in order to open them or capitalize on events deemed worthy and bring them along.

Once armed with the corkscrew, you go for it. Those around you may already have acknowledged your bottle, remarked on the vintage or better still, hope for something interesting when it’s shrouded in paper at a blind tasting. With every twist the tension rises and when the tell-tale suction sound signals that the cork has been removed, you hold your breathe and go for the pour.

Within a few seconds you’ll know – its presence is unmistakable. Then you’ll manage the disappointment of unrewarded expectations. Perhaps you’ll feel like that research you did on the producer, the vintage, the terroir and then the faith you had in the potential of what all those seemingly attractive components could produce, was all for naught. But that would be the wrong approach because it could prevent you from experiencing the opposite in the future, of enjoying the alchemy of all that is good in wine.

When you are faced with a corked bottle that you wanted to enjoy or were lead to think you might, you haven’t lost as much as you’ve gained. First, you’ve learned about the wine and diversified your knowledge. Second, if this your first time faced with a corked wine, you now have a scent memory to guide you in the future and help you avoid drinking other flawed wines. Third, you’ve taken the plunge, been willing to gamble a bit, and been aware enough of the process to feel a sense of disappointment, all signs that you cared and that's just being human. And finally, a corked bottle is not the result of poor handling or misguidance on your part – it is the product of many processes that happened before it came into your possession. As such, the only aspect that belongs to you within that occurrence is that you were able to reveal it for what it was, a defect, and remove an unwanted imperfection from your cellar.

Here are the pieces that appeared on this site in the past week, in case you missed one (use the search engine at the top of the page to access these and others):

• Restaurant
• La Maison du Bulgogi
• Wine & Drink
• Firefly tonics - Detox
• Info & Events
• My Montreal Highlights Festival
• Expo Manger Santé
• Recipes & Attemps
• Tips from Experts: Storing Cheese
• The Wine Crate
• Lickable Ads
• Take Away
• Highlights_2008