The Plate Less Traveled: What Hubby ate in Texas

Fasba

Sunday night supper. I mean, you're hungry but you just don't want to go out, don't want to cook - this is a moment for cheese.

My Mennonite forebears would have had 'fasba': a cold snacky meal of bread, cheese, perhaps sausage and certainly pickles.

Well, still blessed with a small but delicious stock of cheese, that's what we had for supper. We lovingly savoured the Beaufort (yes, Hubby got that look again as he ate it), plus a funky goat from Cypress Grove Creamline and an herbed spreadable chevre called 'Femme Fatale' made by CheesyGirl, the last two from Whole Foods. Plus olives and wine and something fresh.

But don't miss it - in the back, the unassuming white bag - it has cheese infused butter crackers. From Hediard. In Paris. It's good to remember Paris still exists.

Aviv's bread

A former cheesemonger at Janice Beaton Fine Cheese, Aviv discovered that his true love was breadmaking. He's back now, after 6 months of travel that included an estage at a famous bakery in New York, and that means his chewy, rustic loaves are once again available in my neighbourhood.

Stopping at Second to None Meats for a little protein inspiration to wrap tonight's meal around, there was the bread. My theme is complete - grilled Galloway sirloin steaks, topped with thyme butter, with gnocchi tossed in ratatouille and feta alongside.

Starter: bruschetta Tuscan style, which according to Marlena di Blasi, consists of good bread, grilled, drizzled with fine olive oil and a wee bit of sea salt scattered on top. Time to break out the olive oil from Hediard.

Take me to your pastry

Okay, no surprise that my raging sweet tooth takes me through bakeries and chocolate shops wherever I go. In England, I hunted down a few classic sweets to try.

Bakewell tarts have a cakey, almond filling in a pastry shell, but since the only ones I could find were at a supermarket, perhaps they're less dry when they're fresh...otherwise, disappointing.

Banbury cakes are pale ovals of somewhat chewy pastry with a few currants scattered throughout. They have a history that dates to medieval times which scores points but taste lardy and, well - I just don't like raisin-like fruit. There, I said it.

But flapjack - flapjack is a whole 'nother thing. It looks like a granola bar that expired some time ago but its inert appearance conceals a caramelly, buttery sweetness that hit my sweet spot. Yum.

When you start with good stuff

...and then make real food...even the leftovers can be something wonderful.

We were peckish on a Sunday evening but didn't want dinner. What was fast and easy and in the fridge? Having culled a few bits, I grilled a couple of slices of rustic multi-grain Italian bread after drizzling them with olive oil. Then I mixed a lonely piece of chopped turkey-herb meatloaf with grainy mustard, reheating it quickly in a little frying pan. (I love that little one-egg non stick pan!) On top went the leftover sauteed kale and mushrooms, and voila, a delish little nibble ex nihilo.

When life hands you lemons

...preserve them. With a vacation to Europe about to start, it seemed most prudent and housewifely to 'put up' some of the lemons I knew I wouldn't use before we go.

I used the classic method - pack lemon wedges tightly into a jar; add a couple of teaspoons of coarse salt per lemon; top with fresh lemon juice; set jar on its lid and back upright for a day at a time for 2 weeks.

They're ready now, intensely lemony and flavourful, just in time for us to leave them behind. Hopefully our housesitter will leave a few for us to slice into a pasta with goat cheese...or chop finely into hummus.

Pain au chocolat

Driving out of the city midmorning, I unavoidably consider a bakery stop at Manuel Latruwe or Yann's Patisserie for a little something something. Okay, fine, it's going to be a pain au chocolat. I mean...fragile, buttery layers that shatter as I bite, reaching the dark chocolate logs in the centre, an almost bitter contrast to the exterior, and a little latte to sip on the side...delish. Oh the joys of good bakeries! My mouth waters at the thought of being in Paris this summer and doing my valiant best to eat my way through their bakery options.

Crack in the box

I headed over to check out the CRMR store - that's short for Canadian Rocky Mountain Resorts, a group of resorts like Deer Lodge and Emerald Lake Lodge and restaurants like Cilantro (next door) and Divino - and their curated shop of delectable edibles both local and further flung.

I brought home a couple of things: some CRMR cured elk salami, sopressata, a cool and inexpensive little spreading knife and a box of Dufflet Almond and Pistachio crunch.

The meats, surprisingly, were meh.

The crunch was sensational! Rich caramelized nut flavour with a distinctive salty tang, I ate an embarrassing amount of the box by myself in one sitting.

This is now on my dangerous foods list - just too good to stop. You've been warned.

Oh, and the pate knife works great and looks beautiful, too.

Chaource

I've been reading about cheeses and bought a Chaource to try, since it sounded delicious and perhaps - just perhaps - I needed to branch out from my usual alpine cheese affections. (Beaufort! how do I love thee - let me count the ways) "...barely fermented, milk-white cheese smelling of cream and the cellar in which it ripened"...

The sculptural column I cut into was definitely mature and firmly in the stinky cheese category, which wow, do I not enjoy. A friend with a more grown up palate than mine happily finished it off.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

What Hubby ate in Texas

He had

BBQ beef ribs, brisket, pork and sausages. Several times. I've never had Texas bbq. He had crawfish - crawfish! without me! - and catfish on a 'sea'food platter. I've only read about crawfish and I long to make their better acquaintence.

Someday, I am going on a bbq and blues tour of the Southeast, taking a slow drive from Virginia down to the gulf, and then west, feeding on soul food and soulful music. I want to eat southern fried chicken, gumbo, collard greens and dirty rice. I want to compare the sauce served with the long and smokily cooked pork as it changes from vinegary to tomatoey as I travel through the bbq states. I want to eat beignet in a cafe in New Orleans, maybe even the famous Cafe du Monde, and have a cup of their chicory coffee alongside. I want to eat bbq when it becomes a beef feast in Texas.

I want to listen to blues and gospel music in the land where it comes from, a welling up of feeling and experience and the place itself. I want to eat a Georgia peach and have pecan pie where they grow pecans.

Yes, and I want to do it during warm days, in a convertible with Hubby, and taste a piece of the world that I know something about but don't understand.

I'm not Snow White - "someday my prince will come" - my prince is already here. So maybe, possibly, if that someday came true, perhaps someday... I will get to eat shrimp and grits made by someone who knows how in the deep south.

In the meanwhile, Hubby comes home today and I will happily start cooking again since love is in the house.

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