Peter Reinhart's Bagels

Back in January this year, when fireworks lit up the midnight sky with sparks of color to ring in the New Year, I was staying at the Hilton by Niagara Falls with my parents and a girlfriend. We had a huge dinner at the hotel, stuffing our faces with pastas and pizzas and garlic bread. Then we spent the rest of the night in our suite playing poker and drinking ice wine, and when sleepiness set in, we bid each other good night and crawled into our plush king sized beds. 

I was just slipping into REM sleep when I was startled by eardrum-blasting fire alarms. My eyes flew open in panic, I jumped out of bed, pulled on my jeans and wool coat, zipped up my boots with my friend just one shoe behind me. My parents awoke, still in their pajamas, blearily eyed and irritated. Finally, a voice boomed over the PA system advising guests to stay put while the fire department investigated the situation. We paced the room, poked our heads into the hallway, to see what other guests were up to, but they seemed just as oblivious as we were. At this point, the alarms were still ringing at full blast and continued to do so for twenty painful minutes.

Before long, the same voice announced it was just a false alarm. What a lovely way to spend the New Year’s, sitting at the foot my bed, arms crossed over my chest, fuming at my disturbed sleep because some retard drunk moron asswipe decided it would be fun to wake up the entire hotel.

So you can imagine my utter dislike for smoke alarms. In fact, when I made these bagels, they set off the smoke alarm leading me to call them a whole slew of nasty names. The moment I opened the oven to rotate the baking sheet, the alarm burst at full force, I dashed to unlock the balcony door which thankfully, helped dissipate the smoke (my gut told me not to set the oven at 500°F, but I was adamant about following this recipe) and the alarm shut off. 

Minor cardiac arrest aside, these are ridiculously good bagels. They are crispy and golden on the outside, dense and sesamey on the inside. They are what perfection tastes like. It was an epiphany for me, the simplicity of only five ingredients and the magical thing that time does to create crusty, chewy bagels. They sit comfortably in the fridge overnight to stretch out the fermentation process and help bring out the subtle flavours in wheat, so I was excited, exhilarated even, to start my day baking. The smells of warm flour and yeast comingled, filling my home with an aroma not unlike a boulangerie. 

They are not as good as Fairmount Bagels (which are seriously life changing bagels, hello? It’s open 24 hours! And nothing can compare to a 2am post-party bagel feast spent with friends to help soak up the liquor running through my veins). These bagels are not even close, but they bring back such dear memories of me hugging a paper bag filled with a dozen fresh sesame bagels so warm, they are not only smelled amazing, but doubled as a furnace which is quite handy, since the Montreal winters can be brutal. 

I ate two bagels in one sitting and fought the urge to inhale another. They need nothing else but salted butter smeared on top, they might even be worth setting off the smoke alarm (but try not to call them names, this one bagel gave me the finger).

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Recipe here!

White Sangria

Alcohol and I have a complicated relationship. It's as if we were those couples that hook up, fight, break up, and inevitably find each other again. It's dangerous, exhausting, and addictive.

I have on several occasions fallen sick in the most unexpected and least desirable places (on a plane, in the park, on an elevator, in a tram). I’ve learned the hard way how alcohol can do nasty things to me, not to mention turning me into a tomato seconds within my first sip, so I drink with caution.


It's not like I chug gallons of tequila down my throat. What's the fun in that? But just one mojito can cause me to feel dizzy and my vision to go blurry. I suppose it's my Asian genes and the inability to break down alcohol that leads me to always bemoan: Why did I drink that? Whyy?? I'm not saying I like being drunk or have issues that require immediate intervention, nothing like that. I'm just glad that I could drink in the sunny afternoon and still get away with it.

However, I’ve noticed since my Europe vacation, the ill effects of wine/beer/anything with alcohol seems to have trickled away. No more headaches! No more nausea! No more lightheadedness! Golly, did drinking every night in Budapest do me some harm good? Even though I still glowed like a red traffic light, I avoided illness.


Which brings me to sangria. I love the summer for many reasons, but one of them has got to be the restaurant terraces spilling onto the sidewalk. There's nothing better than sipping sangria in the company of good friends. One particularly charming terrace is Boris Bistro in Old Montreal, I’ve always passed by, but I never bothered to step in. Thanks to Milos’s rad research skills, we settled at a table and promptly ordered drinks: a white sangria for me and port for him.

My glass sweat through my placemat, cold water dripped through the cracks of the table. Ice cubes crowded my drink, which was sweet with pineapple juice and mildly bitter with wine. I could sit there and drink all day if I wanted to, it was refreshing and oh-so-summery.


The following day, I visited Terrases Bonsecours also in Old Montreal, nestled on the St. Lawrence River. It has renovated since I last visited, the bistro area has added plush lounge seats so you can relax, let the warm breeze whip through your hair and watch boats float by.

We ordered a small pitcher of the strawberry/lychee sangria. It's got white wine, white rum, Soho lychee liqueur, pineapple juice, and ginger ale. But it lacked that kick, that tingly fizziness that would bring it to the top, regardless, I felt like I had been transported somewhere tropical.

I suppose I should drink up before summer whizzes by. So if you mistaken an Asian for a flashing red lightbulb, don't be alarmed, it's just a normal reaction.

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Recipe here!

Never enough

I spent the past week eating my way through Montreal. This is my sixth visit since I moved in February. It was also my longest stay which allowed me to whet my appetite of all good things edible.


Brunch was a must. Brunch at Fruit Folie with Angela. Then dinner at Laloux with Cora and Milos. Despite our distended stomachs, Cora and I ventured to a night of swing dancing.

I love Cora not only because she has such a razzle dazzle smile, but because she “dragged” me into swing dancing two years ago. In the If World, had I not gone swing dancing with her, I would not have fallen madly in love with dance and realized that my legs could move in rhythmic musical manner. If it wasn’t for Cora’s zest for adventures, I probably would not have met most of my fabulous friends in Montreal.

After dancing and not giving our limbs a moment to rest, we made our way back to the hotel. At 1am in the chilly night, our breath vaporized between us belting Love Me or Leave Me and Moondance. And it only made sense to stop by Fairmount bagels and pick up fresh bagels. We skipped down du Parc with a sesame bagel in one hand and chocolate orange squares in the other.


Cora and I spent a beautiful day in old Port the next day. We sipped lattes, giggled over a wasp that found a deep attraction to Cora’s nose, and pranced around abstract statues.



Later at night, I was pleasantly surprised when my friends slyly organized a dinner party with me at Jane (!!). Recently reviewed by the Montreal Gazette, touted for its “grown-up twist” on pizzas, it’s always fun to try new places. With its dimly lit interior and brick walls, it was cozy and warm.

My favourite, the Rosea pizza was doused in creamy cheese that oozed with each mouthful. Another pizza was dressed generously with taco toppings. The third called the Schwartz was draped with smoked meat and shaved pickles.


I spent the following days lazying about: sleeping in, lying on the couch watching cartoons, and gazing out the window as the sunlight danced in the shadows.


There was also Romado’s. A Portuguese chicken take-out joint. Barbequed chicken served with seasoned fries makes for a good meal and sharing opportunity with a friend.


And who wouldn’t want to share when your friend looks this excited?


Though Milos may blessed with a stomach of steel, I am not. Nor did I decline his offer to go to Juliette et Chocolat for dessert. I was already a little queasy from hoarding all the fries; I knew sweets wouldn’t be a good idea. But what do I know?

There were profiteroles—cream puffs filled with chocolate, vanilla and hazelnut ice cream covered with dark and milk chocolate sauce.


There was fondant au chocolat—molten chocolate cake with hazelnut ice cream. The contrast was truly delightful. The ice cream melded with the soft and tender cake. Then there was me promising not to be too greedy when it comes to food.


I stayed with my friend during the rest of my vacation. As he went to work, I prepared roast chicken with sweet potato fries and maple-roasted brussel sprouts for dinner. There were fresh croissants dipped in maple syrup and cream for breakfast.


There was also banana bread for any time of the day.

I added dark chocolate, keeping them roughly chopped. I like biting into shards of bittersweet chocolate; it’s rustic, without being too showy. It’s deliciously eaten at room temperature, but resistable when it's still warm from the oven.


I’ve made this banana bread several times, playing with various additions including: toasted coconut flakes, walnuts, almonds, chocolate chips, or toffee chips. Milos suggested something his Swedish friend did: chopping up an entire chocolate bar (Mars or Snickers) and adding it into the batter. Which ain’t such a bad idea.

Banana Bread with Chocolate Chunks
Adapted from Epicurious

Ingredients
-1 cup all purpose flour
-1/2 cup of whole wheat flour
-1 teaspoon baking soda
-1 teaspoon baking powder
-1/4 teaspoon salt
-1 cup dark chocolate (70% cocoa content), roughly chopped
-3/4 cup of anything else (walnuts, slivered almonds, desiccated coconut, or raisins)
-1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature
-1 cup sugar
-2 large eggs
-1 cup mashed ripe bananas (from 2 bananas)
-2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
-1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Preparation
Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter and flour 9x5x2 1/2-inch metal loaf pan. Whisk first 4 ingredients in medium bowl to blend. Combine chocolate chunks and any other additions in small bowl; add 1 tablespoon flour mixture and toss to coat.

Beat butter in large bowl until fluffy. Gradually add sugar, beating until well blended. Beat in eggs 1 at a time. Beat in mashed bananas, lemon juice and vanilla extract. Beat in flour mixture. Spoon 1/3 of batter into prepared pan. Sprinkle with half of chocolate mixture. Spoon 1/3 of batter over. Sprinkle with remaining chocolate mixture. Cover with remaining batter. Run knife through batter in zigzag pattern.

Bake bread until tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 1 hour 5 minutes. Turn out onto rack and cool.

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Picnics and bagels

Montreal. Mont-reeaale. I love how it rolls along my tongue when I pretend I know how to speak French.


So far, I’ve been lucky. Every weekend I go visit, the weather gods have been cooperative. Sunny hot days! Azure skies! A slight breeze! Not a hint of rain! This has led me to meet my picnic quota of the summer. I feel a sense contentment as I flap open the blanket, allowing the corners to flutter as they settle on the grass.

This Canada Day weekend, me and my pal Baran took an oversized tablecloth to Parc la Fontaine. Its border was navy blue, an explosion of white, green and pink bohemian swirls flooded a golden yellow background. Its colors had faded, I suspect after having been excellent use for previous outings. We laid it on a slightly hilly side of the park, over looking the water. We dropped our bags and sat with big smiles on our faces.


Next, our grocery store goods came out one by one: a vegetarian wrap with tofu spread, baby carrots (sadly, lacklustre in crunch), and ruby plums. We watched as clusters of friends surrounding us enjoyed the sun. Bottles of beer sweated in the heat, bursts of laughter floated in the air, puppies splashed in the water. It was moments like these where I wish I could stay on vacation, stay in Montreal, and never leave. Where I wish I had a tall glass of watermelon juice with me and a plastic swirly straw—because it really makes it taste better.



I could have wished harder, but we had to leave. For good reason though. We went to get Fairmount bagels. In fact, I burst into a fitful of giggles whenever I say their name. Baran’s bag that toted her batch of purchased bagels was folded in such a way that had her mistakenly call them “Fair-unit” bagels. HA.

I bought sesame, chocolate chip, sun-dried tomato and blueberry bagels. Sesame bagels—though plain, are my favourite. Always fresh and warm from the brick oven, every bite yields melting pleasure. The yeast binds homey wheat and nutty sesame flavors to create a chewy texture, yet isn’t too much work for the teeth. I’ve had What a Bagel here in Toronto before, but found them too fluffy and airy, lacking in that intensely chewy and dense mouthwork I look for. I’ve been back in Toronto for nearly a week and I just finished my dozen treasured bagels, I like to drag out the tastiness as long as I can.

I’m going back to Motnreal to visit next weekend (Hurrahhh! My fifth time since February) for my friend’s wedding, once again, I shall indulge in chocolatines and café au laits for breakfast, and scout the streets for moka almond fondant crème glacée.

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Recipe here!

My friends rock

Fairmount Bagels are to die for. I bought 18 and smuggled them back to Toronto. I don't think I've ever bought $14 worth of bagels. But ooooh so worth it.




At Buvette Chez Simone a lovely wine bar on du Parc. I ordered half (my alcohol tolerance is laughable) a glass of Beaujolais red--because I love its fruity notes. Minh ordered a glass of white, in which its name has left my poor memory. It was surprisingly crisp and not dry at all.


We ordered a salad to share (which you cannot see because the photo turned out blurry). The salad had eggplant (my fave!!), argula and boccocncini drizzled in an aged balasmic vinegar dressing. And fresh bread to mop up the juices!

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Recipe here!