Lately and The Delicious Project: Mushroom Risotto

As most food-lovers will agree, at meal times, you must have your camera ready. When I dine out, I frequently have my camera sitting in my lap, with the appropriate settings turned on to capture the perfect moment. It's especially awkward however, when the table is small, there's only a smidgen of space between me and the next diner and I have the urgent need to whip out my DSLR. I know they stare at me in bewilderment, I know they're judging, but I do it anyway. It's critical to document these meals ykno? 

So here are the places and things I've been eating. There was a real yum and affordable classic French food at L'Avenue, I went with a food-lover friend, she got the buttermilk fried chicken and I ordered the croque monsieur, all I can say is I can't wait to go back.

 

There's also been a family potluck in which my cousins who also happen to love food (it runs in the family), prepared not one, but two desserts. There were apple blossoms plus apple and cheddar pies. I'm not even a fan of warm fruit but I was smitten over the blossoms which were deliciously comforting (besides, its fun to say apple blossoms over and over again)

 

 

I had an friend visit from California last week and was eager to try Toronto cuisine. I don’t even know what that is. Thankfully, she did some research and found The Black Hoof, I'm still unsure if it's considered Canadian, but this place is definitely worth talking about. I peeked at the menu online and my heart skipped a beat when I saw roasted bone marrow. Ohmygoodness. I was already excited. At promptly 7pm, we surveyed the cocktail selection, settled on sangria (which to be honest, wasn’t very good and disgustingly overpriced) and chose four dishes from the chalkboard menu and waited.

First, came the cheese platter with complimentary jams, chutneys and homemade raisins, followed by the roasted bone marrow (sigh!) served with salsa verde and flakes of sea salt, I’m happy to report that it was exactly what I envisioned: smooth, silky, and unctuous on grilled bread, I could have eaten five plates of it. But I didn’t, we shared it and moved on to the next dish, burrata and asparagus salad, splitting it into three equalish portions (Terroni wins for making an oozier, creamier burrata). The most surprising thing however, was the beef heart with mussels.

I was expecting a slab of bloody meat and a bundle of steaming mussels to arrive at our table, but when the cute waiter set down a neat plate of slivered beef heart, topped with tender mussels (out of their shell) along with a creamy sauce, a scattering of breadcrumbs and frisée tower, I was blown away. This is serious business folks. The most intriguing part wasn’t the tattoos that snaked along our waiter’s arms and legs, but how the heart was seared just on the outside yet retained a decent chewy texture and you couldn't detect any peculiar beefiness, it was mildly meaty and yet still gracious. 

We didn’t have space to stomach another morsel, so we made our way to the Bier Markt, which I think was the smartest idea ever. Overwhelmed with a dizzying selection of beers, we took our time and chose our first round: Lindeman’s apple beer, Muskoka’s Mad Tom India Pale Ale and Rochefort Trappist Achel Ale. I’ve only just started to enjoy beer and now I’m tempted to go back and try more, the ale was complex, rich and fruity, a far cry from the regular beers I've had. It even smelled good. On our second round, I had the Muskoka Mad Tom, as I was immediately drawn to the floral yet bitter flavours. And as if our big dinner wasn’t enough, we ordered the smoked meat poutine which was so darn tasty, a fellow patron walked by, curious to know what we ordered. I highly recommend it.

 

The following day, I went to Ennismore with a good friend to visit another good friend. We’ve been getting together since the beginning of the year for a girl’s night, and this time, we showed up at our friend’s house near Turtle Bay. Despite the sad, gloomy sky hovering above us, that didn’t stop us from by mixing very strong mojitos and dining on the patio with BBQ salmon and creamy potato salad.

  
Afterwards, we took our drinks and sat by the dock. It was quiet and peaceful, something that I rarely take time for. Buzzed and a little lightheaded, we made our way back to the house for some dessert: Eton mess, a beautiful mixture of vanilla yogurt and heavy cream topped with broken up meringue cookies and berry compote.

On the same busy weekend, I rushed off to meet up my fellow food-lovers for our third Delicious Project, this time taste testing mushroom risotto. But first, Lisa bought pastries from La Boheme to kick off our epic taste test, we shared croissants, almond croissants, chocolatines, danishes, and vanilla custard filled croissants. Then came the serious work, photographing risotto ingredients and sampling four types of risotto (life is really hard), Lisa has documented the results here. I’d say my summer is off to a great start. 

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Recipe here!

Spicy Chai Latte

I spend most of my weekdays at the computer. I sit next to a window that faces west, so on a clear night like today, I take a break from studying to watch the sun dip below the horizon, leaving behind purple, pink and orange streaks across the cerulean sky. It’s a little different every night as the clouds dabble with the dramatic effect of shadows and light. I catch the show around 5pm and its definitely a highlight of my day.

So far, this month has been odd. The air is nippy with a bitter chill in the gusty winds, and then just as you’re about to complain that winter ain’t too far away, the weathergods tease you with remarkably sunny and warm temperatures. So warm in fact, I can leave the house with just two layers and a scarf tied loosely around my neck. It’s November people! Then there are some days when it’s miserable and gloomy outside, water droplets pitter patter on the window and on the street, people dash for cover, escaping the rain that failed to give any warning whatsoever.

On these cold yucky days I pile on layers of cotton pajamas and furry socks and a thick sweatshirt just to stay warm. I also saunter to the kitchen and make a cup of coffee topped with frothy milk, then, last week it struck me that I have yet to make some chai. Tea spiked with ginger, cardamom, cloves, black peppercorns and cinnamon, a combination sure to warm my toes. A while ago, I made an apple crumble and had planned to make some chai tea using the same spices but I never got around to it since I was distracted by a birthday every week.

  

I’ve made homemade chai before yet I could never find the right ratio of spices that I enjoyed. Like Goldilocks, I found the chai too bland, too watery, lacked that kick, or just didn’t taste right. Chai to me (the way I like it and not necessary how it is made traditionally) should be based on a deep earthy flavour from the black tea, then layered with homey spices that commingle to tickle every nerve in your body.

Sometime last week, bundled in my pajamas, I was prompted to turn on the kettle and pull out the necessary spices from my pantry. The whole process took no more than 20 minutes: I bashed the spice mixture, tossed them into the saucepan along with hot milk and let them steep. Before long, I held a steaming mug of chai in my hands, satisfied with the tea, the blend of spices, and the touch of sweetness from the honey. No amount of rain falling from murky clouds could bother me and I promise this chai is sure to enliven your senses too.

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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!

Budapest

Let’s start with Budapest. Or as Milos who insists on pronouncing it like Magyar way: Buda-pchest.

We were darn lucky to have rented a prime spot in the heart of the city, the apartment was right next to the subway, steps away from supermarkets, close to a major shopping district. In the lazy afternoons, the sexy tune of a saxophone drifted into our apartment from the square nearby (I must add, Airbnb is a très cool concept. I was iffy about using it at first for safety reasons, but our host was friendly, very hospitable and made sure we were comfortable. If you haven't heard about it yet, hop to it!).

The most fascinating part of our neighbourhood was Deák Ferenc Square, named after the famed Hungarian Minister of Justice. Every night whether it be a weekday or weekend, this square was crowded with people in their twenties and thirties, lounging on the grass or sitting by the wooden decks on the pond, their hands grasping cold beers.

We joined the locals one night, bringing our own drinks. As we sat on our bench, a small group of young girls in miniskirts and high heels strutted by, two guys on short bikes rolled past us, a cigarette in their mouths. A bearded man stopped before us to scour through the garbage can for recyclable bottles.

The lamp posts dimmed the marble sidewalks with an amber glow, the friendly chatter and laughter mixed with the two piece guitar band strumming away gave the air a sense of bubbliness and excitement, like you were missing out on the all the fun if you weren't here.

And that’s what Budapest felt like. Everyday there was something to do; we visited the Gellert Hotel and Baths twice on our trip, soaking up more than healthy doses of UV rays.


We crossed Liberty Bridge and watched the golden sunset cast a magical sheen on buildings facing the Danube.


We ordered wine in the early afternoon at Művész café. Then we couldn’t bear to pass up these colourful sundaes: a mixed berry sundae for Milos and a lemon sundae for me. I nearly fainted with joy at my first bite; it was delightfully tangy and refreshing.



Never once did it rain in Budapest. For six days, we were blessed with skies so blue, it looked like the sea.


One night on Andrassy utca, we sauntered through wide sidewalks passing fashion boutiques and tall apartments, it almost looked like Paris. Then we stumbled upon a grandiose building, ornately flourished with statues and pillars, glowing by yellow spotlights. There were groups of formally dressed men and women in stilettos milling about; it became clear that we were standing before the Opera House. To the left was Callas, a café with outdoor seating, so without hesitation, we settled at a table facing the main street and ordered drinks and dessert. It was a quiet night, motorcycles zipping past and dark leaves rustling in the nippy wind.



We showed up again the next night for dinner. I ordered ravioli sheets with seared goose liver and truffle sauce. To be honest, liver scares me. It doesn’t have the most attractive name in the food world—liver. It brings to mind a red slab of glistening organ. Sometimes it tastes overpowering, too iron-y. But then again, it is considered a delicacy like foie gras and pate, so it gotta be good no? And surprisingly, it’s popular in Budapest; its usually found on restaurant menus. So being the adventurous eater that I am, I ordered it anyway, it can’t hurt to try.


My dish was pure bliss. The goose liver was mild, slightly crispy on the surface and dissolved pleasantly on the tongue. The pasta sheets were succulent, each doused in earthy sauce. After five bites however, my dinner became overwhelmingly salty. But overall, it was delicious.

Milos’s veal paprika with bacon wrapped cottage cheese wasn’t bad. Chunks of veal was hidden underneath a coat of thick orange stew, served along side some pickled cabbage salad.


As we ate, there was a little band playing jazz. The violinist, clearly the leader of the group, is a funny character. On my way to the ladies room, he held up his hand, stopping his colleagues mid-song, allowed me to pass, then resumed playing the cheery tune.

We walked home in the spring breeze full and happy. Seeing all my pictures of Budapest still makes me chuckle. There were unforgettable moments with Milos that just made the trip a thousand times better than I could have ever imagined it to be. That freeness of drinking beer, wine, vodka or what have you out at Deák Ferenc Square under the glittering starry night really tied up my vacation. Europe (or most of it) carries itself with a sense of freedom, the I Can Do Whatever I Want Attitude. Though I could just have easily gotten this muddled up with how relaxed I felt on vacation, no work stress, no financial stress. It just felt good.

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Recipe here!