Petty Fores

Spent all day Saturday at McCall's learning how to make petit fours.  I didn't think to bring my own apron, and I cleverly wore a black sweater and brown cords, so I was covered in flour and sugar quite a bit of the time.

It was a hands-on class, but the sort where everyone does a bit of everything; you don't just make your own batch.  We made a lemon sponge roulade, tons of little tarts with a sweet almond paste, almond cream, and variations of buttercream, fondant icing, and vanilla custard. 

Also made the standard pound cake with marzipan and raspberry jam.  The fun part was the melted fondant.  We learned the proportions and temperature that guarantee a smooth, glossy finish.  

I will definitely do these again.  Just not for a long while.  There was some sampling, and I will be spending tomorrow on a treadmill because of it.

A New Gallup Poll in the US

Theory of Evolution:

Believe 39%

Do Not Believe 25%

No Opinion 36%

Margin of error +/- 3 pts.

Oh, Help Me Rhonda!  There you have it, folks, the world is about to end.

25, OK, Only 20, Food Things About Me

Thanks, Kelvin, for this tag.  What a fun way to talk about food!  A warning, though:  I have been lucky enough to visit some really nice restaurants, and I want to share the experiences, but I may sound like a name-dropping douchebag.  Just remember that I am one of the masses who has to call for reservations 2 months in advance.  And I'm only going to go with 20, since I'm so very sesquipedalian.  In no particular order:

1.  Breakfast at a friend's cottage, in my twenties.  Always the same routine.  8 or 10 of us would wake up around noon, hung over, but before we'd start another day of hanging out at the beach and drinking beer, we'd have a big communal breakfast.  Jane would scramble a dozen eggs; Becky would toast up a loaf of bread; Dave would fry up a pound of bacon; I would slice potatoes and fry them.  Someone else would pour the OJ, and another would set the table.  We'd serve all the greasy goodness to each other straight out of the frying pan, sit around the table, and start mythologizing the fun of the previous night.  We left the table grateful for the fine job grease does at soaking up liquor and ready for the first beer of the new day.

2.  Dim Sum at some place in Scarborough maybe called Perfect Restaurant. Everything you could ask for- crispy, doughy, good fillings, great tea, and 3 of us ate like kings for $20.  Nice to be able to look at the bill and say "This one's on me!"

3.  The Vendome restaurant at the Ritz, Paris.  More for the theatre of it, but the food was incredible as well.  We ordered from a very attentive waiter, who left the table.  A few minutes later, the Sommelier came by, aware of what we had ordered, to make wine selections that matched our meals.  (It drives Peter batshit when we're at restaurants and they want you to order a bottle of wine before you've had a chance to look at the menu.) Then a rolling Champagne cart came by, stocked with bottles of Ritz Champagne on ice in a large silver tub, and a glass was offered.  

When each course is served, 2 waiters bring your dishes to the table, covered with silver domes, which they simultaneously remove with dramatic flair.  Seconds later, a "sauce" waiter comes by, ready to offer a delectable complement to your dish.  The food was almost beside the point by then.  

At some point during the meal, a cheese cart was rolled by.  I loved the fact that this cart was clearly a piece of antique French furniture, with a marble top, that had been refitted with wheels.  We were offered all the cheese we wanted.  At one point, I asked for something strong.  The Fromage Guy lifted a glass dome from over a piece of cheese, and cut me a slice.  The odour was overpowering.  I barely had a tiny piece to my mouth when I could feel my nose hairs tingling.  It was all I could do to swallow that little piece.  Peter wouldn't try it, and he loves cheese.  Moral of that story- strong cheese in France is stronger than strong cheese in Canada.

This is getting awfully long, so let me just wrap up by saying that the decor, the history, and the incredible Frenchness of everything made this meal paramount. (Oh, and when you have to go to the bathroom, a staff member walks you back into the hotel where the discreet but flamboyant bathrooms are, and waits for you by the restaurant door to walk you back to your seat!)

4.  9 course tasting menu at Babbo.  Word of caution- if you order the accompanying wine tasting, you will receive a full glass of each.  9 glasses.  Ouch.

5.  My great Aunt Elsie's roast beef with Yorkshire pudding.  Sunday supper was always a production when I was growing up, with lots of family.  No one made this particular meal like my Aunt Elsie and Uncle Jim.  Great roast, riced potatoes, lots of veggies, (ok, they were overcooked, but it's my heritage!), and crispy, light, Yorkshire pudding to soak up the incredible gravy.  Uncle Jim's shortbread for dessert was a yummy treat.

6.  Lobsters in the dark.  Again, at a cottage, we were all sitting around a bonfire eating chips and drinking, when one friend wandered over a few cottages and struck up a conversation.  He was there most of the night.  Our fire was almost out when he returned with a bunch of foil parcels.  His charm had won him the leftovers at the party he crashed.  I ran into the cottage,nuked a pound of butter, and ran back out with it.  We all sat there in the dark, working our way through succulent whole lobsters, pulling at the meat and shell with nothing  but our fingers.  It was such an unexpected treat.

7.  Wendy's Junior Bacon Cheeseburger and Fries.  I'm just sayin'.

8.  My dad's lasagna.  So much cheese and meat you could barely lift the pan onto the table.

9.  Any meal with the Williams-Sonoma people.  We all love the best, and we talk about the food as much as we eat it.

10.  Mini truffle panini and Prosecco at Procacci in Florence.  We'd never heard of it, but we managed to find an extremely cute place with the most incredible truffle everything, all served up with some fruity Prosecco. Cute green marble tables, and the endless variety of the teeny weeny panini made you want to stay all day.

11.  The dinners served by surly Anna at our inn in Montalcino.  Actually, she wasn't surly at all, but had been labeled as such by plenty of American tourists who took her lack of English skills as a personal affront.  But the meals she made us 2 nights in a row were spectacular, as were the wine pairings offered by her lovely husband.  Oh, and the view...

12.  The White Trash dinner party at Daphne's.  Spushi (that's Spam sushi) made by Kelvin was a standout.  I believe we were required to use a can of Campbell's soup in all our recipes.  I think I contributed my Auntie Marg's Green Bean Casserole, the mother of all White Trash dishes.  All served with a nice box of wine!

13.  Mom's Christmas turkey.  Not too much of mom on this list, since cooking was not her strong suit, but she would make a Herculean effort at Christmas to get this meal right, and came up with some far-out (for Burlington in the 80s) side dishes like Squash Souffle.

14.  Annual birthday dinners for Alison and Sarah.  I love how they indulge.  As Sarah says, "It's just not a dinner at Lori's unless I leave feeling uncomfortable, and with my top button undone."

15.  The first dinner party I hosted where I didn't burst into tears before the guests arrived.  It was not as long ago as I wish.

16.  Steve's cooking is a class all it's own.  Always done with love, and usually with saturated fat.  He can make anything special, like homemade potato chips.

17.  Tapas at Coca.  Better than Cava.

18.  Cupcake hunting in New York.  Magnolia, Buttercup, Cupcake Cafe, Amy's Bread, Joe's Bakery, Crumbs...

19.  Kelvin inspires me to add this- when I was a kid, my mom was making a stew of some kind, and the pan had a lid on it.  My dad always considered himself the better cook, so he kept checking what she was doing, opening the oven, taking the lid off the pan, etc.  At some point he set the lid on the counter, unknowingly on top of a bar of soap that had been next to the sink.  The soap stuck to the lid, and went into the stew when he put the lid back on.  Next time someone checked, the pan was full of bubbles and sludge, and there was a bar of Ivory floating in the middle of the stew.  Pizza was ordered. 

20.  Any time I eat with friends and/or family, I consider it a special meal.

What's In Store?

It has been established that I like to shop.  A few weeks ago I felt it necessary to add a new sweater to the collection, so after work I headed over to Banana Republic.  It was mid-January in Canada, and positively freezing outside, yet I was met with "The Spring Collection".  Short-sleeved silk blouses, thin cotton skirts, and sleeveless dresses.  I searched high and low and found exactly one sweater on the sale rack.  Fortunately it was my size.  As I paid, I said to the cashier, "Do you find it strange that it's minus 20 outside and this is the only sweater in the store?"  

"Oh yeah, it's cold!", she replied, missing my point entirely.  I didn't pursue the issue, since I have learned not to take out my frustration with a corporate decision on a minimum wage-earning employee.  I did want her to commiserate, though.  I didn't ask for the manager, either.  I have sort of a short fuse, and sometimes when I intend to sound reasonable, my voice raises slightly and I develop what my mother would call "tone", as in "Don't take that tone with me, missy."  I am an email complainer, which I find satisfying since I have time to construct my argument, and no one can watch me fume while I type.

My point is this:  retailers are struggling mightily in the current economic climate, but still expect consumers to shop for a season six months away.  I understand that it's important to get the new merchandise out quickly, but aren't we shooting ourselves in the foot when we are sold out of boots while the snow is still falling, and trying to move linen pants when the temperature is way below zero?

I don't expect much of a response from the store; I'll probably get a stock "Thank you for making us aware of the issue" sort of thing.  There were maybe three people in BR that night, and I was the only one buying.  A vacant cash line is the only way they'll learn.

Surprise! Spends 2 Much Spent 2 Much!!

But it was so worth it.  

Sandy was the driving force behind my "recession shopping" after Christmas.  She got great deals in Dallas, so I thought I'd see what Michigan had to offer.  And really, who wouldn't want to drive to Michigan in the middle of winter?

Tony picked me up at 7 AM, and we picked up Shopaholic shortly after that. Took us 2 1/2 hours to get to Port Huron, on the other side of Sarnia.  The "bleak factor" really picks up once you cross the border.  Boarded up buildings, sad houses, and the standard crappy roads that you find in all but the nicest parts of the US.  You have to feel sorry for Flint; the auto industry has treated that town terribly.  At least they have an outlet mall.

We made it to Birch Run a bit after noon, and headed straight for the Pottery Barn outlet. There was a big sign just inside the doors that said "Take 50% off Last Ticket Price"! That, combined with another discount, made the stuff practically free.  We spent several hours at Birch Run, and I picked up things here and there, then it was back on the road to Troy.

Now, Troy, and specifically The Somerset Collection, made us wonder if there really is a recession.  The stores were packed, as were the restaurants.  The only signs of economic turmoil were the sales.  Deep discounts everywhere you looked.  At Cole Haan, the boots I bought in August, before anyone knew the sky was falling, were now less than half what I paid for them.  Karma made up for that in Barney's, however.  On the shoe rack was a pair of peacock blue Christian Louboutin pumps that had been $565, marked down to what you'd pay for shoes at the Rockport store in the Eaton Centre.  Oh yeah, I bought them!  

Flush from my purchase, we went for dinner at a very nice Italian restaurant nearby.  Tony ordered the 1/2 size of the spaghetti and meatballs.  A few minutes later the waiter brought what looked like a serving bowl full of spaghetti and sat it in front of him.  "Excuse me, but how big is the regular size?", he asked the waiter.  "Twice the size of that", the waiter said.  Welcome to America.  Luckily, we had all ordered the small size of our dinners, which turned out to be very large indeed.

We took the Detroit/Windsor tunnel back to Canada, and ended up in a snow storm from London to Toronto.  A complete lack of visibility was made tolerable by the fact that there were so few cars on the road.  About 5 cars drove in a line, with the bravest as our leader.  We did have some comical moments, though:

Shopaholic- Tony, turn on your high beams.

Tony- Uh, don't know how.

It was a fun drive.  Got home 19 hours after we left. I hope the recession ends soon, though.  As much as I like discounts, I'd rather live in boom times, so my shoes and I will have somewhere to go in 2009.

What Project Runway and the Bush Administration Have in Common

I am a huge fan of Project Runway. Not because I want to see 14 variations of cocktail dresses made from recycled car parts.  The draw for me is the contestants themselves.  I don't care about the group dynamics, or anyone's sappy back story.  What keeps me tuning in week after week is the chance to hear the contestants critiquing their own work.  Nothing on this earth impresses these people more than themselves, and it is utterly fascinating to watch.  These people are blown away by their own awesomeness, and say so out loud.  In fact, "blown away" is one of the most frequently used terms when the contestants watch their creations come down the runway.  No matter what sort of disaster they have draped on some poor stick-figured model, they tear up when they see the girl sashay down the runway draped in the hideous mess of their design.  Each contestant is happy to say that his or her own work towers above anyone else in the competition, and if the judges disagree, the judges are wrong.  Really, what would Michael Kors know about fashion?  Listening to people so confident in their own abilities despite ample evidence to the contrary actually evokes some wistfulness from me.  I do not have the ability to heap praise, warranted or not, upon myself, and mostly I think that's the way it should be.  There is self confidence, and there is delusional self confidence.

Which brings me to the Bush administration.  These men and women are the political equivalent of Project Runway contestants.  They believe in themselves and their choices despite the fact that most of the world believes they are wrong.  They don't learn from mistakes, because they don't think they've made any.  They consider themselves to be divinely inspired.

Problem is, the consequences from George Bush's delusional self confidence will be around a lot longer than those fugly Project Runway dresses will be.

UGH!

I love snow this time of year.  And only this time of year.  From now until Christmas, I'm all for a light dusting of snow every few days.  After all, I am a born and bred cold-weather Canadian, so I know how to walk like a duck to keep from falling in snow.  This year, I thought I was being extra clever by getting a pair of new boots, both warm and functional.  I thought...

Yes, I got myself some shearling boots called Emus.  Uggs are too damned expensive, and I really was going for practicality more than style (if I had wanted to look like a fashion victim, I'd have bought a pair of Uggs 5 years ago and worn them in the summer).  That being said, these boots were a big mistake!  Ok, they are warm, and the inside is soft, but the treads on the soles are useless.  I know this because this morning I slid off the sidewalk at the corner of Jarvis and Carlton, did a sort of demented pirouette, and landed on my butt in a pile of filthy slush. I got to work wet, dirty, and more pissed off than usual, and I'm always pretty pissed off on Monday mornings. 

 Sartorially, as well, these are not the boots for me.  I look like I was built at the Muppet Workshop at FAO Schwarz .  I'm not that freaking old, but I think I am too old for these boots.  This was confirmed for me on the way home from work, when a 4 year old pointed at my feet and shrieked to her mother: "those are the boots I want!"

It's not enough that I look like a fool in these boots, I am also endangering my life.  My old boots are already at the Goodwill store, so tomorrow I have to go to the mall to drop more money and get some boots that will keep me from ending up underneath a streetcar on a slippery day.  That, or I can go to Goodwill and buy my old boots back for a Loonie.