Well, I screwed the pooch on that one, didn’t I? Ah well, I don’t feel so bad; I made it all the way through last year so maybe next year I can set that bar high again.

Anyway, I was in quite a grump Saturday afternoon. There was no explicable reason; sometimes I just get that way. Matt suggested that maybe we should go out to dinner.

We went to this restaurant downtown—Le Kilimanjaro—that we thought was Tibetan but was, in fact, Haitian/African.

It was…okay. The soup starter was a bit oversalted and generic for my taste, so I couldn’t see what made it African OR Haitian. The samosas were these teeny-tiny turnovers stuffed with minced beef which Matt liked better than I. What I dug was the spicy dressing on the salad. And while I know my French is far from perfect, even my husband had a difficult time translating the menu. I wanted something vegetarian so I ordered “mafe’”.

It was more or less like a peanutty-spicy curry with huge chunks of green peppers, onions and some other veggies I couldn’t identify. It was quite good with the soup of too-sticky rice. I got more of that salad I had earlier with the dressing; it was all good until the end of my fork picked up a huge chunk of frozen (ice and everything!) lettuce. I just put my fork down at that point. Matt had something called griots (which we have since learned is pork medallions) with some odd dirty-looking rice and plaintains. He too got frozen lettuce but it didn’t bother him. All said, it was very mediocre yet affordable meal. If someone asked me for an ethnic resto recommendation, I would not be able to give it here.

On the other hand, I finally got to go to King Hall. Holy crap, that bar is awesome! It reminds me of a combination of bars from Atlanta and New Orleans. I look forward to exploring their beer menu.

Oh, how I keep telling myself that not every dish is a winner. Point of fact: this one. Perhaps freshly shelled chestnuts would have made a difference, perhaps not.

Seriously, I was so disappointed in this one.

The LSC and I were back in Montreal this past weekend. There was a comic convention which really was the saddest little con you ever did see. Somehow it was sadder that Lou Ferrigno was there. Still, I got to meet a couple more of my husband’s friends. As a prize for being a good sport, the LSC took me to see Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, which we both loved. I must profess I only wanted to see because of Bill Hader, but the bonus of Neil Patrick Harris and Bruce Campbell made it worth more than the price of admission.

In my continuing quest for decent Mexican food up here in the Great White North, we ate at Manana Saturday night. Every time we’ve stayed on the Plateau, we’ve walked by and I’ve been quite intrigued. Doing diligent research at our hotel—Anne Ma Soeur Anne, equally a rocking place but more on that later—the LSC pulled up a taqueria that sounded very promising but after heading towards where it was supposed to be, we discovered that it was no more. As visions of chorizo tacos spiraled away to nothing, we agreed to Manana as a second choice. (It was my first, actually, but never mind.) Manana is admittedly a bit cliche with its bright prints, extremely loud salsa music and Frida Kahlo pictures on the walls (which I loved, so there) but it was warm and cozy. After a long day of seeing the sad nerds with their sad costumes, it was time for booze. And oddly, I wasn’t the one to suggest it!

Ah, fresh strawberry margaritas. My only gripe? They were frozen. Still, they were laden with tequila and sometimes that keeps the bad things at bay.

The spouse had the table d’hote (which essentially means he ordered the fixed price meal) and his starter was this interesting eggplant gratin. I am not entirely sure what this has to do with Mexican cuisine but from what I tasted of it, it was all right. A bit unusual but all right. Actually now that I think about this dish more, the more I am confused by it. Anyone care to shed any potential light on this?

I had the “quesadillas del queso”; that’s an oxymoron, morons (not you, whomever wrote the menu).

And the LSC had some sort of chicken dish whose name we have both forgotten. He liked it well enough but said, “This was okay but I think you could make better Mexican food.” Was that a challenge?

Post-dinner was pints at a favorite microbrasserie, L’amere Boire, a nice stroll to our room and a night’s sleep on the comfiest hotel mattress I have ever encountered. They give you fresh croissants in the morning (the hotel, not the mattress)! Also, our hotel was next to a jazz bar so I got lulled to sleep by “My Baby Just Cares for Me,” a favorite song, so: bonus!

Stir-Fried Shrimp with Chestnuts

1/4 cup peanut or vegetable oil

1/2 cup shelled chestnuts, cut into 1/2-inch pieces (I used canned and peeled chestnuts)

salt to taste

1 pound shredded cabbage

1 clove garlic, sliced, plus 1 tbl. minced garlic

about 12 large shrimp, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch pieces

1 tbl. minced or grated fresh ginger

2 tbl. soy sauce

1/4 cup chopped scallion

2 tsp. dark sesame oil

Heat a third of the peanut oil in a large skillet. Add chestnuts to pan, along with a pinch of salt, and cook over high heat until they begin to brown and slightly crisp. Remove and set aside.

Add another third of the oil, followed by the cabbage and the slice garlic; cook over medium-high heat, stirring, until the cabbage begins to brown. Add about 1/4 cup water and continue cooking for another 3 or 4 minutes, until cabbage has softened.  Remove and set aside.

Add remaining oil to pan, then add shrimp, minced garlic, ginger and a little more salt; cook until shrimp is just pink.

Return chestnuts and cabbage to pan, along with a couple more tablespoons of water and the soy sauce. Cook, scraping up any brown bits from bottom of pan. Add scallions, drizzle with sesame oil and serve.

Ah, the search is finally over. The LSC and I purchased a car! Hopefully we’ll pick it up today or tomorrow; the husband isn’t fussed about it but I admit I am.

I am aware—to some extent—that buying a car is tedious and time-consuming process. But it wasn’t until we left the dealer’s around 7:30 that I realized that oh-my-gosh-we-should’ve-eaten-dinner-by-now. Unless there’s something romantic or exciting happening, I have no tolerance for late-houred meals. Like most people, I get vicious and cranky when the tummy is empty and the blood sugar’s low.

Now I am really not that big a fan of Chinese food but seeing as how we hadn’t had it for a while, I suggested that we go to the Village de Chine (I’m guessing that translates to China Village in English). I had a powerful yen for noodles but every time I say that I have a powerful yen for noodles, I always end up not getting noodles and wishing that I had stuck with the original plan for said noodles. Anyway, we got a table d’hote and ended up with a nice amount of food. Starting with wonton soup, followed by spring rolls, with an extra order of shrimp toast (can you hear your cholesterol going up?)…

We ordered from the Szechuan side of the  menu and since I don’t eat beef, our main meat course (??) was General Tso’s chicken. I was always under the impression that this was really quite spicy but it tasted as though it had been dumbed down for Anglo tastes.

Sadly, it was the same with the shrimp. Now don’t get me wrong, this food was entirely edible but it does nothing to change my opinion that Chinese food—or at least the North American facsimile of it—is the least interesting of Asian cuisines.

In all, I think eating a sodium-heavy meal late in the evening did me and the husband no favors. Perhaps, if we want to eat late, having a car will give us a wider range of options.

Oh kids, let me tell you: I am tired. The LSC and I have returned from another awesome weekend in Montreal—we went down solely for the joy and party that is Gay Pride 2009—but damn, if I ain’t already tapped out.

Nonetheless, this is a food blog and we did eat a lot of yummy things whilst out of town. Possibly one of the best Indian meals I’ve ever had, for one.

Last night we had a truly exceptional meal at a place called Atma outside of the Latin Quarter; aside from being the textbook definition of a jewelbox of a restaurant (whitewashed walls, cushy chairs, lots of candlelight, a few romantic cubbyholes for private dining), their food was incredible. My go-to Indian dish is often saag paneer but I opted for malai kofta instead. Boy, was I ever pleased because it was stunning.

The LSC devoured with great glee an order of eye-searingly red chicken vindaloo; I tried a little of it and despite my love for spicy, no thank you.

After dinner, we walked around a bit, popping into art galleries, checking out sidewalk book sales. We made our way over to Place Emilie-Gamelin for some of the free fun at Pride. We watched a dance and song revue that veered between Cole Porter standards and Vegas glitz. Between the throngs of people and the heat, we were thoroughly exhausted by the time we got back to Le Gite, the quite nice bed & breakfast we were staying at. Breakfast, obviously, was complimentary but we still had to go to the Brulerie St. Denis for a cup of coffee for me (I don’t take it as an offense that most hotels and such like don’t provide decaf coffee). I ordered a variation on a cafe au lait and my husband ordered a Cafe Mardi Gras (or something like that; we can’t remember) which had amaretto syrup, steamed milk, espresso and roasted almonds on top.

I realize that I hail from the Land of Hot Weather but Montreal honestly gave Atlanta a run for its money this weekend. It topped out at 94 today. Add to that lots of concrete, large gatherings of people and boy howdy, is that not my least favorite combo ever. Still, we had a Pride Parade to go to so the LSC and I braved the Metro and made our way to the Gay Village. By the time we got there—we stopped to do some shopping—it was lunch time. When I am hot and cranky, I become less inclined to make decisions. I kept telling the LSC to choose whatever he’d like to eat which, being that he married me and knows how to dish it out too, volleyed that decision right back to me. So we ate at Sushi Shop and yes, I know, it’s basically the Canadian version of fast food sushi, it did the trick, regardless.

Post-Pride Parade, we hit Atwater Market on our way home. Craving chocolate, I ordered us a slice of opera cake to share. I can list all of the things we bought (cheeses, sausages, etc.) but seriously, kids, I am tired. I’ll see you Tuesday, refreshed and ready to cook.

While I may have missed Atlanta and my friends, I certainly did not miss the heat that greeted me when I stepped out of the MARTA station Thursday afternoon. Imagine a dirty heavy hot damp blanket buffeting you in the face when you step out the door. Every day. How easily I adjusted to the mild Quebec summer because I feel woefully unprepared to deal with this kind of heat. Regardless, I got to eat places I like and cook a little too!

I think I may have mentioned repeatedly how much I love the goat cheese fritters at The Porter; I think I may have to tell you that they remain effing delicious when I went there with Will for lunch.

In the picture above is possibly the most nature-defying sandwich I have ever laid eyes on. Nay, it is not mine, but that of Will’s. It is a foot-long grilled sausage on a hoagie roll, covered in homemade giardinara (psst, that’s peppers, onions, carrots and other veggies in a spicy vinegar). I have never ever seen a sandwich that enormous and no, he didn’t finish it.

I ordered the black bean burger because I couldn’t find anything on the specials menu that caught my fancy. I like the black bean burger; it’s very filling, sticks together and frankly, a side of garlicky-herby fries can pretty much fix anything. In fact, it was so filling that I took it back to the Matts and it’s probably still in their fridge.

Friday afternoon I had a few beers with Will at the Righteous Room then met the girls—Pretty Gomez and Clarissa—at Cafe de Sol for pre-dancing drinks and nibbles. While I don’t have pictures, I ate their Three-Onion Soup (salty but yum) and a side salad of mixed greens, goat cheese, candied walnuts tossed with a walnut vinaigrette. In fact, I would have really liked to have gotten a recipe for that vinaigrette because it was quite lovely. I’m sure the Internet won’t fail me for a sub.

Wearing my party dress, we danced until nearly two in the morning at El Bar. The next day, I must say, my throat felt like paper (all that yelling), my ears were still ringing and I thought: “Ah, I am no longer 22. Welcome, impending middle age.” Nonetheless, I had an excellent time.

The Matts and I walked to Park Tavern for recovery cocktails and black bean dip then spent the afternoon figuring out what to cook for dinner that night. Well, the LSC and I gave Matt #1 a Barefoot Contessa cookbook and one thing lead to another…

…and roasted cauliflower won the fight. Paired with grilled steaks and chicken and some wine, Saturday night was wonderful.

Our friend Bobby came over, ate with us and we all talked long into the night. How strange to think my life is so different now.

Before I left for South Carolina Sunday, the last place I wanted to go to was Gato Bizco in Candler Park. I’ve been going there for years and hands down, there are no better pancakes in the city. My stepdad ordered a burger for breakfast; I respect that.

Their French toast is pretty tasty too (my mom’s order).

I apologize for taking a crappy picture of the World’s Most Awesome Pancakes but camera was about to die. They were as perfect as I remembered. Oh, that decadence! Oh, the rich slight sponginess that absorbs bounteous butter and heavy syrup! I would have taken a pic of the soysage but you’d probably laugh at me for that sort of thing. I still haven’t gotten up the courage to ask for their recipe.

Of course, my mother made me Mexican food last night. I won’t even chronicle the sadness of Sherbrooke’s one lone Mexican restaurant and the heartbreak it trots out every night on its dinnerware. Let’s just say when you’ve grown up eating the real deal, you have got to bring your A-game. Even in Atlanta, I found it a bit difficult. There were exceptions, just not many. She made us guacamole—which, because I insist on being five, I call Wack-a-mole—and HOLY COW. I like how she keeps it simple; guacamole should rarely have more than four ingredients. I could have just eaten this with a very large spoon.

I didn’t get a photo of the homemade flour tortillas but since she will probably make them again this week, I’ll do it then. She made me this potato-tomato-turkey dish she used to make for us when we were kids. She used beef back then but did it with ground turkey for my grown-up tastes. It tastes like home.

Well, I’m in South Carolina for the remainder of the week. My folks want me to do some of my cooking for them so there should be entries about that. It feels odd being back here, or rather it doesn’t feel quite real. Regardless, it’s been great seeing friends and family. But I do miss my husband dearly.

I’d like to posit that everyone has their own brand of travel anxiety. For my husband, it manifests as constant fretting, worrying, inability to relax or sleep.

As for myself, it is more like having a mild to medium panic attack all day. Seriously, nothing seems to stress me out quite like an impending airplane ride.

And since I have a few loose ends to tie up, I’ll say nothing except about that pic of the sandwich except: in order for a sandwich to be a panini, it should really be heated so that the cheese is melty. Because if, you know, I ordered a cheese panini and paid you $7 dollars and in return I received a roll with slices of cool cheese and mealy tomato, I just paid for a damn cheese sandwich and I can do that myself at home.

One of the quick meals I slapped together this short week was more grilled portobello mushrooms (yay! I found a way to eat them!) on a foccacia bun with roasted red peppers, goat cheese and fresh basil from the garden. I feel like I put something else on them but it’s escaping me at the moment. As an accompaniment, I roasted some asparagus and tossed it with roasted garlic oil.

There is no recipe for this because you can eat your portobellos any way you like; this is the way we liked them this week.

In addition to my anxiety regarding my trip to the States (it’s not the arrival I worry about, it’s the getting there), the LSC’s folks  spent a couple of days up here with us. It takes some getting used to, having, essentially, a third set of parents (second, if your folks are still together, fourth if both parties involved have separated ones). But the trick of it is that you know what to do with your own parents; with someone else’s, it’s a bit of a guessing game. I am not an entertainer, honestly. I tend to do my own thing, regardless of company present, but I constantly have to try to remind myself to put forth the effort to entertain. Aside from my husband and our cats, I rather like the solitude I have during the day.

Well, one place where I am definitely comfy entertaining is cooking. Allowing me to display my culinary skill for others is a treat and safe harbor for my oh-my-god-am-I-being-rude fears. The LSC’s folks brought us more local cheeses from Ontario but instead of doing something decadent with them, I opted for something slightly more wholesome. I really am trying to wean the LSC and I off of having too fatty foods. Don’t worry, I will never give up indulgence but moderation is key. Besides, I am sort of on this sweet/savory kick recently. I love the contrast of those two flavors so I found a recipe involving a rice dish that includes veggies AND fruits. It went over well, thankfully.

I also paired the rice with some fresh green beans boiled, blanched and then sauteed with lots of garlic and lemon. I won’t say that these two recipes are utterly guiltless—they do involve olive oil and butter, after all—but you can feel slightly less bad about yourself. Also, this is my last Quebec entry for the next ten days. I will still be blogging and posting pics but from the States so wish me a safe journey!

Harvest Rice

1 tbl. canola oil

1 cup shredded carrots

1 cup sliced scallions

2 cups cored and chopped unpeeled apples

3 cups cooked brown rice

1/2 cup raisins (I subbed dried cranberries)

1 tbl. sesame seeds

1/2 tsp. salt

Heat oil over medium-high heat. Add carrots and cook and stir for 3 to 5 minutes until softened. Add scallions and apples; cook 3 to 5 minutes. Stir in rice, raisins, sesame seeds and salt. Cook, stirring, 1 to 2 minutes, or until thoroughly heated.

Lemon-Parsley Green Beans

from AllRecipes.com

• 1 pinch white sugar
• 1 pound fresh green beans, trimmed
• 2 tablespoons butter
• 2 teaspoons olive oil
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 tablespoon lemon zest
• 1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley
• salt and pepper to taste
• 1 lemon, cut into wedges

1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil over high heat: add sugar, and beans. Cook until beans are bright green and tender, 3 to 5 minutes. Drain, and place in a large bowl of ice water to stop cooking.
2. Combine the butter and olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat; cook until butter melts. Stir in the garlic; cook until pale beige and fragrant. Stir in the beans; cook until wilted, and garlic is dark brown, about 4 minutes. Toss beans with parsley and lemon zest, and cook 1 to 2 minutes more. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Transfer beans to a serving dish, and garnish with lemon wedges.

Despite having been here for nearly four months, I still have trouble believing that any of this is real. It often feels like an extended vacation but I only have to look at the ring on my finger to realize that no, this is really where I am. And when Matt and I venture outside Sherbrooke, I see the rolling mountains, huge lakes and immense sky above and feel a little humbled. Having been a city girl for most of my life, proper Nature is rarely glimpsed.

Yesterday we ventured out to Stanstead, a town that famously straddles both sides of the border. Half of the place is in Quebec; the other in Vermont. It’s only a 30-minute drive and what a drive it was! Sunny, warm and the road we sped down was hilly, picturesque and again, startling.

It’s quite odd to be in a town where you can see the U.S./Canada border from where you’re sitting. But Stanstead folks—on both sides—have gotten so used to mingling over the years that English is spoken as well as French.

The LSC and I spent our time there taking a peek at the Musee’ Colby-Curtis and a Tasting of the Region. Really, all you had to do was mention regional food samples and I was on it.

For $5 apiece, you went into a large tent where local vendors had set up their wares for you to try. I mostly gravitated towards the cheeses and chocolate while the LSC made a beeline for maple syrup vendors so he could eat maple butter (think the consistency of peanut butter) and maple sugar pie.

Of course, that was only the tip of the iceberg. We tried an amazing caramelized onion/tomato tart, peanut butter/chocolate chip cookies, carrot loaf (which I thought had no raisins but was sadly mistaken), smoked salmon, olive bread and rose jelly. We sampled a beautifully dry oaky white wine that we eventually bought a bottle of.

And you know I made us get some more cheese.

When we wanted something a little more substantial, we decided to split a Polonaise sausage from a local boucherie. I actually acquiesced to sauerkraut, though I have never been a fan. I must say I was shocked that I liked this ultra-fresh version. We came away with some maple syrup and a loaf of that carrot bread to take home as well. If you’re ever in the area during the summer, Stanstead is an interesting place to check out. The drive alone is worth it.

Now I have a bunch of recipes that are going to get posted within the next few days. I haven’t even touched on the homemade pizza I made last night when we had Dale and Beth over, nor have I mentioned the buttermilk chive drop biscuits I made this morning (except for just now, I guess). I am just trying not to overload each blog entry. I gotta save some stuff. But rest assured, all in good time. This week there will also be homemade fruit popsicles, potato galettes and yet another variation on granola. Oh my, and then there’s all the food prep for the LSC and I’s Canadian reception this coming Saturday. Maybe I should take a nap!

I deeply apologize for not having a blog entry for Saturday; it nagged me all day but I had a good excuse, I swear! The LSC and I were in Montreal as part of our monthly big city-trip.

It wasn’t like you were missing anything huge anyway. Just some roasted zucchini for lunch. Yup, some nicely roasted zucchini that paired well with some Thai tuna…

I have figured out that if there’s something you want me to eat, especially a vegetable, all you gotta do is roast that sucker.

Before we left for Montreal, I had done some research as to places I’d like to eat at. One of these places was a vegetarian restaurant called Cafe Santropol, a sort of funky fun bohemian place from what I could understand. It wasn’t entirely walkable from our hotel so we decided to drive there instead, figuring on a quick jaunt over and back. Oh how very wrong we were. I am married to a man who is NOT a driver nor a fan of it and he was behind the wheel. He turned into Mr. Hyde as he spent nearly a half-hour motoring down confusing one-way streets, closed-off streets and various other obstacles.

After the white-knuckle ride through the streets of Montreal, we finally arrived at the restaurant. It was a very interesting space; lots of wood, vaguely hippie-ish upholstery and wall hangings, the sort of thing I feel would not have been out of place at the height of Haight-Asbury. We asked to be seated at the patio but they did us one better! Past the tables and off to the side of this disturbing fountain, there was a tiny two-seater. The LSC and I were very hungry, having eaten in the morning, so after perusing the menu, I chose the Killer Tomato sandwich (which got rave reviews on Yelp). On some very nice whole wheat bread, it consisted of a tomato-ey cream cheese, sundried tomatos and topped with fresh tomatoes and lettuce. I actually just found the whole thing merely okay, sadly. My beef was mostly with the sundried tomatoes, which can be overpowering in excess.

When my husband and I go out to eat, it’s usually agreed that I end up ordering something that he likes better than his own dish. Not so this time out. He ordered the Pepper Island sandwich which featured that same bread but with pesto cream cheese and red pepper jelly; he also asked for ham on it because he felt like he deserved a treat from the stress of driving. All in all, we felt that our experience at Cafe Santropol was adequate and even though it wasn’t great, if we were in the neighborhood, it might warrant another visit.

I apologize for the dearth of photos from this trip. I ended up forgetting the camera in the room most of the time. And though I don’t have photographic evidence, here’s a quick rundown of the weekend:

* A visit to the Contemporary Art Museum which included an exhibit that was a giant room of nothing but old and empty iron-wrought baby cribs. Of course, they lit it spookily and of course, I found it unnerving.

* an afternoon viewing of the Sam Raimi film, Drag Me to Hell, which I was onboard with until there was a cat sacrifice. Then I just wanted the film to end.

* some light shopping, which included my trip to Lush.

* a dinner at buffet in Chinatown that I quite enjoyed but the LSC less so.

* drinks at the Saint Bock, where we were able to observe the Montreal nightlife of St-Denis in near full-swing.

The LSC woke up a bit hungover on Sunday so that sort of tarnished the morning.  When we checked out of the hotel, we headed to Atwater Market, where a long-standing food dream of mine was realized…

…a warm almond croissant from the patisserie.

It was lovely and just the thing. On the left is the palmier that the LSC ordered. He was pleased with it—though I suspect he was more pleased it stayed down.

But of course, there is no place like home. We took our sweet time getting back (much to the chagrin of the cats) so I made dinner a little later than we are used to. My original idea for dinner—which I will feature on Wednesday—was vetoed but this was my back-up and it passed muster.

I don’t know if I have bought this up before, but I have discovered that here in Sherbrooke, there is no decent Mexican food. Hell, there isn’t even any decent Tex-Mex food, which will do in a pinch. So I make my own. Even though this version has meat in it, you can handily sub in any veggies you like, but I would probably saute them a bit first.

Chicken Enchiladas

2 cups cooked chopped chicken

8 oz. frozen corn, thawed and at room temperature

8 oz. sour cream

1  1/2 cups shredded Mexican-blend cheese, divided

2 tbl. chopped fresh cilantro, divided

10 6-inch corn or flour tortillas

1 (10 oz.) can enchilada sauce

1 cup salsa

Heat oven to 400 degrees. Coat a 9-by-13-inch baking dish with cooking spray. In a large bowl, combine chicken, corn, sour cream, half of cheese and half of cilantro. Wrap 5 tortillas in a damp paper towel; microwave them for about 30 seconds to soften. Repeat with remaining tortillas. Place about 1/3 cup mixture on each tortilla and roll tightly. Arrange in baking dish, seam side down. In a bowl, combine enchilada sauce with salsa; pour over tortillas. Top with remaining cheese and bake 15 to 20 minutes or until cheese melts and enchiladas are heated through. Sprinkle with remaining cilantro.

I love Tomato Season. I love Tomato Season so much that I grant those two words capital letters. Tomato Season is not yet here, but oh, it’s a-comin’.

If there is one thing I know that makes me a Southern girl down to my bones, is my love of a good tomato. On a hot summer day, a tomato sandwich on good bread with lots of black pepper and a thin slick of mayo (preferably homemade) is worth its weight in gold. When I discovered heirloom tomatoes a couple of years back—bright and exotic colors speared on toothpicks and glossed with grassy olive oil and cracked pepper—I thought I had found heaven. So you can imagine my excitement in realizing that within a few scant weeks, Tomato Season will be in full swing, baby.

Yesterday I picked up some not-too-shabby lovelies from my local grocer’s and set to making a super simple pasta sauce for dinner. Along with some garlic bread that could kill Dracula, the luscious sauce (finally using that lemon-pepper linguini lurking in our pantry) was super yummy. My only notes on this recipe was that I omitted the fresh flat-leaf parsley because my plants aren’t producing yet and they didn’t have the proper kind at the grocer’s. Also I used up a bit of pasta sauce I had in the fridge to thicken it up a little.

Dessert was some artisanal chocolates picked up from Grandbois Chocolatiere in Montreal. While I can’t point out to you which flavors were which, I can tell what they were:

* pimento (i.e., peppery)

* balsamic reduction (which I quite like)

* sea-salt caramel (hands-down the winner!)

* hazelnut (nothing exceptional yet still tasty)

Gourmet chocolates AND exquisite tomato sauces??? Oh, summer, I think I may fall in love with you!

Tomato, Caper and Basil Sauce

1 tbl. olive oil

1 cup finely chopped onion

2 cups seeded and chopped fresh plum tomatoes

1 28-oz. can tomatoes with Italian herbs, drained

3 tbl. capers, rinsed

2 tbl. minced garlic

2 tsp. dried basil

chopped flat-leaf parsley for garnish

freshly grated Parmesan cheese for garnish

Heat oil in a Dutch oven. Add onion; cook 8 minutes or until softened. Add all tomatoes, capers and garlic. Bring to boil; reduce heat and simmer 10 minutes or until thickened. Stir in basil; cook 2 minutes. Garnish as desired.

The LSC and I spent our holiday weekend in the city and oh boy, was it totally worth it.

Admittedly, the weather didn’t play fair with us: serious driving rain and wind on Saturday then just windy and cold on Sunday. Despite the fact I obsessively check the weather wherever I go, and yes, I was well-aware that it was supposed to rain on Saturday, guess who forgot to pack umbrellas? ANYway, once we checked into the Hotel Lord Berri—imagine what a hotel room looks like, any one will do, and you will have pretty much seen what our room looked like—we decided to go explore. On the way to my girlie-glee mecca, Lush, we popped into a newsstand and purchased the cheapest umbrellas money could buy. In fact, they were so cheap that mine didn’t last the day. One good gust of wind and it turned it inside-out, ruining it.

I must say that even though I have spent the past nine years in a city, there are always things which set them apart from others. (Duh!) Montreal definitely has the feel of an European city. Walking up Rue St-Denis, even in the rain, with all the boutiques and shops, cozy restaurants, glittery and shiny pubs, was unlike anywhere I have been thus far. And though we were armed with our cheap umbrellas, before we could get too far, the LSC was insistent on stopping somewhere to get dry and get a drink. I couldn’t blame him; we looked like drowned rats. I don’t recall the name of where we stopped to grab a pint and peruse the Mirror but I do recall that it was fancier than where I like to do my drinking. Never mind, really, as that pint really hit the spot.

After dropping a pretty penny at Lush (thanks, sweetie!), we were going to meet the LSC’s friend, Max, for dinner or coffee and dessert. Unfortunately, Max couldn’t make it out but he did recommend a dining destination for us: Pho Bang New York, a Vietnamese joint in Chinatown. I adore Asian food even though I have to admit a lesser fondness for Westernized Chinese. Vietnamese is still the tops in my book.

I like Chinatowns. I like the commingled sense of the recognizable and the utterly foreign. There is something reassuring about seeing the slash of Asian languages across banners, glass windows, scrawled on walls. Anywhere in Chinatown smells good. You could almost eat the air, perfumed with grilled meats, strange spices and sugar.

Once we got to Pho Bang, we were served a steaming pot of white tea—really lovely after a drizzly day—and ordered Imperial rolls, tightly wrapped cigars filled with minced pork and veggies.

Pho Bang was a clean little jewel of a place: lots of white tile, communal seating at long tables,  and for the LSC’s confirmation, a clutch of police busily slurping down crazy-huge bowls of pho. He maintains that the police know where all the best eats are but I’ve never really thought about it. I suppose it must be true.

After flipping through the photo-tastic menu, the LSC decided on grilled pork over rice. He was leaning towards a dish which would have served a variety of meats plus the rice, but he showed some restraint. Now that I think about it, I am really surprised that he didn’t order pho; I don’t think I’ve ever seen or heard of him ordering pho.

Because I am pure class, I kept trying not to make Big Trouble in Little China jokes. Of course, I properly shut up when our table was shared by a gaggle of Asian youth, most of whom looked half-preppy, half-gangster. I was thinking of those jokes though. It’s a wonder that the LSC puts up with me most times.

Now my husband and I both have benchmarks in our shared love of Asian cuisine. His is Pad Thai; whenever he goes to any Thai restaurant, he invariably orders it and claims he’s never had it taste the same way twice. Knowing that aggravated me and when I took him to eat Thai, I told him not to order it because he always gets it but I think I can let it slide now. As for me, I judge Vietnamese places by their grilled chicken with lemongrass rice; this particular version was quite good and outshined the pork dish, I was told by the LSC.

After dinner, we wandered around Chinatown, stopped in a bakery and purchased the following goodies:

* Taiwanese cream pastry

* giant Asian-rice krispie

* red bean paste bun

* sponge cake filled with cream

* a super-light almond popover

Bag of goodies in hand, we walked around Le Village, popping into the occasional store and then had a beer at Le Cheval Blanc.

The next morning we braved the windy cold to walk up to another Max-recommended eatery: Le Grille Pain (translation: The Toaster). On the way we grabbed a newspaper because there is nothing like a leisurely breakfast with coffee and news.

Breakfast was quite good; I had an unbelievably fresh glass of apple juice (visible a pic or two up) that made us wonder if they didn’t have a juicer in the back. My omelette was yummy, but being a cheese-fiend, I would have liked a more-pronounced cheddar in it.

We spent the remainder of the day continuing to explore, trying not to be too chilly. Montreal is lovely and seemingly immense; I find the juxtaposition of the modern and the Old-World pleasantly jostling. That evening we took the Metro up to NDG and had dinner with Matt’s uncle and aunt, his cousins and their respective partners and children.

Much wine and champagne was consumed, as was good food, and we returned that late that evening, sleepy but content.

Because you are reading my food blog, it is not very shocking that I adore food. The cooking of it, the reading about it, the learning, and of course, food stores!! On our way home, the LSC took me to the Atwater Market. This is the kind of place where I could easily spend a fortune. But before the LSC could let me turn loose with the savoring and looking, we had coffee and pastries. A cup of decaf and a banana-caramel muffin for me; a cup of regular joe and a chocolate croissant for him.

Oh, Atwater Market! If I lived in Montreal, I would spend weekends there, browsing amongst the boulangerie, the fromageries, the butchers and fishmongers! Selecting the fresher-than-fresh veggies, buying pots of herbs to plant in my own garden. It truly did remind me of the French Market, only a wider variety and nowhere near as many tchotchkes everywhere. The LSC and I purchased the following: a freshly made baguette, a loaf of olive bread (my favorite!), three kinds of cheeses, smoked almonds, wasabi peanuts, praline pecans, and a small box of artisanal chocolates. I was going to buy some veggies too, but we didn’t have proper storage to take them home. Next time, though, we will be ready.

*note for non-French speakers, a boulangerie is a bakery, a fromagerie is a cheese shop.

I can’t remember where we read it—I think it was in a free weekly that was in the hotel lobby—but we stopped at the Fete du Chocolat in Bromont, a teeny town fifty minutes of Montreal, towards home. Initially I was reluctant because while there were crowds of people on the sidewalk, I didn’t see anything that really resembled a festival. But having married a man who is persistent, we discovered the delights of the Fete du Chocolat. Six dollars and a ticket in the form of a chocolate bar and you sampled local and regional chocolatiers and other peddlars of artisanal foods.

My highlight: trying sharp cheddar dipped in a chocolate fountain; it sounds crazy, but it works! My lowlight: the raspberry chocolate macaron; I didn’t hate it, it just wasn’t what I was expecting. The LSC’s highlight was also the cheddar/chocolate combo and he also agreed with the macaron. We both agreed that perhaps if we tried a different flavor, we’d be more impressed. And of course, here’s the list of our purchases:

* three bottles of handmade maple-syrup-based vinaigrette: we got two bottle of the Dijon mustard kind and one of port.

* Two bags of flavored almonds: citrus lemon and ginger (those are two separate flavors, by the way)

* two jars of local mustard: a maple one and a almond/white wine one

* a bottle of beautiful-tasting very very very small batch of extra virgin olive oil (the proprietor owns his olive farm in Morocco)

But at long last, there was nothing better than getting home to our anxious cats, our quasi-tidy house, and making ourselves a snack with a glass of wine.

For dinner last night, we put together a lax variation on chicken satay (it’s that paste you see in the bowl above the chicken) and coconut-almond rice. It’s not a recipe, really, but you can find the recipe I used for the rice here. We had a really lovely holiday weekend and I hope you enjoy reading about it as much as I enjoyed writing about it.