Crispy Bits

This fall, the Gentle Barber invited a motley crew up to his cottage on the shores of Lake Huron for a big bear weekend.  Never one to turn down an opportunity to escape the city, we hopped in the Sweet Babboo’s brand new Nissan Versa and hightailed it out there, Google map in hand.  We arrived at Southampton after sunset and spent the rest of the evening on the deck, enjoying beer and company. 

The following day, after a bracing splash in the icy lake and a long warm-up in the hot tub, we made our way into Saugeen for a bite to eat and a grocery shopping expedition.  Apple&Jacks volunteered to make a late lunch and perogies were on the menu…barbequed perogies.  Now the Ukrainian in me was having a hard time comprehending this.  I grew up with one tried-and-true method of perogy preparation: cook in boiling water until they float.  For an added bonus, fry in pan to crisp up.  This last step is usually reserved for dealing with leftovers, but I preferred them this way.  With roasting pans in hand, however, Jacks confidently set forth to demonstrate this little bit of magic and thumb his nose at generations of Slavic tradition.  Here’s a rundown of what he did:

That’s it.  Done.  Easy peasy.  And as you can surmise from the photo above, they were mighty tasty.

 That evening on dinner duty, I prepared a dinner of barbequed chicken and lamb souvlaki with vegetable skewers and a warm potato salad.  I was too busy cooking to take pictures, and it was so dark by the time we ate that I was at the grill wearing a headlight.  Brought back memories of camping.  And the food wasn’t bad.  The sunset was really nice, though.

Oh, and I still get a chuckle about the neighbour who was struggling with the concept of the bear flag: “Now is that pro-bear, or against bears?”  I guess the ten bearded, burly, beer-drinking men didn’t offer her a clue.  Too funny.

Carl Laidlaw Orchards

So the crafters are going apple picking this weekend!  Yay!  I don’t get out of the city very much so this is a real treat.  I’ll put up a full-fledged apple-picking post when we get back.  My haul last time was close to 30 pounds, so there will likely also be an apple butter post, an apple compote post, and an apple pie post.  Apples for everyone!

No, this is not the name of our crafters’ club…although I wouldn’t debate its accuracy.  I thought, considering the name of this foodie blog and all, that it was high time I showed you some crispy bits.  Please enjoy them in their full-coloured glory.  These crunchy candy coralettes (also known as sprinkles, jimmies, candy vermicelli, sugar strands, hundreds-and-thousands, or hagelslag) are from Nutty Club, a Western Canadian company with their head office in Winnipeg.

In operation and “serving Canadians coast to coast” since 1903, I honestly believe they have not changed their branding since probably the 30’s.  Bless them for that.  I think the handless, dancing CAN-D-MAN on the package has worked his way into the collective memories of everyone who spent any time in the Prairies.  The company specializes in confectionary and baking products and I have vivid recollections of both.

The racks of snacks are most often seen in small-town grocery stores, co-ops, and gas stations and contain snack-sized bags of ju jubes, allsorts, scotch mints, humbugs, chicken bones, and midget mix.  Also available were the more savoury items such as peanuts, popcorn and sunflower seeds.  My high school store had one of these racks and my favourite treat was a bag of salt-and-vinegar peanuts smuggled into typing class.  Any type of food was strictly forbidden, so my typing buddy and I were flush with rebellion as we sneakily munched away at the back of class.  In retrospect, it was rather unhygienic, what with the communal Smith-Coronas and all and then licking the sour salt off my fingers.  But hey, it was the early 80’s and times were simple then; no one worried about these things.  Well, apparently the teacher did.

Anyone who’s spent a nanosecond in a Prairie kitchen, especially during a bout of seasonal baking, has probably caught site of the Nutty Club food colouring in their funky bottles (see above).  And no matter how many drops you added to the frosting, your red and green never came out more than pink and mint…not exactly what one hopes for when decorating those Christmas cookies.

Always the avid baker, my grandmother’s basement larder was a veritable treasure trove of Nutty Club baking products: bags of baking ju jubes she liked to put in her carrot cake (a nice alternative to raisins, I must say), the pressed sugar decorations reserved for special occasions, pecan halves, miniature candied fruit slices, and sprinkles and trim-ettes for days.  My grandmother also enjoyed serving Nutty Club “juice” made from appropriately-coloured concentrated syrups to which one added water.  Cherry was a favourite.

So if you’re ever passing through a town west of the Great Lakes, keep an eye out for the dancing CAN-D-MAN, grab a bag of Midget Mix, and participate in our national identity.  If, on the other hand, you’re heading to Paris and see a box of these goodies:

…pick one up for me because these are NOT available here.  I’ll pay you back.

Second in a series of Cuban-related posts.

Sol Rio Luna y Mares pool

I love Cuba.  Rather, I love a particular resort in Cuba.  It’s called Sol Rio Luna y Mares and is located 50 minutes outside of Holguin in the middle of a nature reserve.  The beds are comfy, the swim-up bar is convenient, the beach is spectacular, the staff is friendly, and the dining options are plentiful and good.

Unfortunately, as is true with many all-inclusive resorts, the vacation experience can be somewhat insular in that it’s very easy to avoid exposure to any sort of local culture, history or genuine interaction with those that actually live there.  In fact, until as recently as 1997, Cuba’s communist regime forbade any contact between tourists and Cubans and essentially created enclave resorts, resulting in a situation often referred to as “tourism apartheid.”  This is no longer the case and other incremental changes are being made.  It is still required for a tourist to obtain a discretionary permit in order to stay outside of a resort.  But Cubans may stay at the resorts and enjoy the beaches along with the vacationers.  And now, majority foreign ownership of these resorts is virtually non-existent.  Still, it is possible for the typical Canadian to stay on Cuban soil for a week and never venture beyond the poolside buffet, which is very sad indeed.

And speaking of buffets, take note that many of the Cuban resorts cater predominantly to German, Italian, English, Canadian (and Quebecois), and Spanish tour operators.  This means having to please a diverse range of palates.  On any typical night, one may find antipasti and pasta, stroganoff, sausages and sauerkraut, fish and chips, and of course burgers in addition to the 50 or so other options available.  And if that’s not enough, we are encouraged to enjoy the special à la carte restaurants offering “Cuban”, “Romantic”, “Italian”, or “International” cuisine.  I place all names in quotes since the name rarely offers a hint at what might be served.  

I was delighted to learn that a new French restaurant had opened on the resort since my last visit and it was earning raves on the review sites.  My sweet baboo and I were eager to enjoy the experience and reserved a table for our final night there…sort of a last hurrah.  Well, in short, it was everything the reviewers had described.  We were greeted at the door with a blast of cool air and a glass of sparkling wine and were guided to our table.  Celine Dion’s “Deux” album was spinning on the platter and we got momentarily lost in the menus.  I selected an appetizer of fois gras. 

fois gras at le Bistro

I like paté but haven’t tried fois gras, ethical implications notwithstanding.  And at the resort, the food may be good but the menu translations tend to be a little more on the creative side.  “Cow Spine” in the Italian restaurant, for example, was really meant to be Bistecca alla Fiorentina, and ended up being flank steak.  Who would have thought?  Anyway, all this to say that I was certainly not guaranteed to receive authentic fois gras.  In the end, it didn’t really matter because it was scrumptuous.  It was a piped rosette of cognac-flavoured liver puree with a sliver of toasted bread and garnished with cornichons, onion, prune, and a port reduction.  Served with a bottomless glass of bubbly, it was heaven on a plate. 

steak au poivre

For my main, I dove into a top notch piece of steak “au poivre” and some artfully arranged vegetables.  I don’t know where they get their beef but it’s been among the best I’ve ever enjoyed. 

I concluded my bistro meal with a dessert of slightly rude-looking, piped chocolate mousse (I’ve declined to publish the photo), silky and smooth, creamy and rich.  We were sent off into the tropical sunset, riding our chocolate buzz and rubbing our linen-covered bellies, looking for the nearest lounge chair in which to enjoy our final digestif.