Vancouver

A Notte morning for three.

~ wellfedemily ~ 1 Comment

I woke this morning to sun beaming through the slats in the blinds, and it was marvelous and it took me by surprise – the previous million days have been relentlessly rainy and dark. Today was warm and dry and I remembered how much I love it here.

Until yesterday, I was tossing around the idea of Toronto, and of running away, even though it snows there. The idea might come back on Monday when I have to go back to work, but for now: Vancouver, I love you. James said I want too much anyway, and that I should be happier with what I have.

Today I met Tracy and Miss Rosa at Notte’s Bon Ton, a bakery on Broadway where you can get cups of tea, small bites of sweet things, and your fortune told. James, the tarot card reader, was entertaining, and surprisingly insightful, even to those of us who doubt everything we can’t see and most of what we can.

The tea was nice, and the sausage rolls were teasingly tiny, and I had to have four. The cream puffs were my favourite part, as big as baseballs and filled – FILLED – with whipped cream, and Tracy and Rosa enjoyed the buttery little cakes. It’s not a place I’d go every weekend – it’s a treat. Which is perfect, because I feel like it’s something I can look forward to.

It was cheap, too. Ten dollars for the tarot reading, five dollars for tea and a sandwich. A dollar and a bit per little treat, and two dollars or so for the cream puff. It’s the kind of place you’d take your grandmother to, and which she’d be delighted by. You can buy cakes and cookies to go, and they make wedding cakes, which I imagine would be delicious, and swathed in shiny butter cream.

If you’re in the city and you want a nice little morning in a pleasant little tea room, Notte’s Bon Ton is probably the way to go. And don’t pass up the chance to talk to James. Even if you don’t buy the whole fortune-telling thing, he’s got an arsenal of interesting stories and fables that go tremendously well with pastries.

We’re not so poor that we can’t help.

~ wellfedemily ~ 3 Comments

I don’t have any money, not really, but you know what? The cable bill can wait. We have enough to eat, and our home has not crumbled around us. Very poor people are in crisis, and Haiti is literally falling apart. Even if you can only spare a few dollars, please do.

If you’re here in Canada, donate online to the Canadian Red Cross. Until February 12, the Canadian government will match any donation you make to a registered charitable organization.

If in America, there are several ways to donate to the Red Cross.

And if there is any way that you can help save the children at BRESMA, or if you know of anyone who can help, there is a lot to do there and not very much time.

Thank you.

Love,

Emily

Things that are delicious: Kale.

~ wellfedemily ~ 10 Comments

My lips are all tingly, we had kale for dinner. Or, rather, with dinner, because we had a little bit of wild, bloody, brother-in-law meat, and we felt like sexy savages and we also had kale, and the kale involved bacon and lemons and chilies and it was fantastic.

The winter 2009 edition of Edible Vancouver has been moving about my apartment for all of winter 2009 up to now, and in it there is a recipe for lemony kale from Campagnolo, which is a fabulous new restaurant that everyone who’s anyone has been to and raves about, though I’m clearly not anyone because I haven’t been there, because this is not the kind of blog for which I get free meals or even very much attention, and also I am poor so I can’t pay for the food on my own. There’s got to be a way to remedy that. The free meals thing, of course – my paycheque is supposed to remedy the poverty thing, but for some reason, it does not.

Anyway. This recipe for kale, it’s been calling to me, but every time I go to the market to get kale, it’s always wilted. Fortune smiled on me yesterday, however, because there amongst the cabbages and other green things, there were bunches and bunches of gnarly, leafy goodness. You’re supposed to make this recipe with guanciale, which is cured pork jowl, but I’m normal and only have bacon in my fridge. Turns out, that’s plenty good enough. More than good enough even. So here’s my version of things: It’s kale for the layman.

Campagnolo Lemony Kale

(Adapted from Edible Vancouver, Winter 2009)

  • 2 to 3 slices of bacon, thinly sliced
  • 1 lb. kale, washed, large stems removed, and blanched
  • 2 small or one large lemon(s), zest and juice (two to three tablespoons)
  • 1 tbsp. good olive oil
  • 1 tsp. red chili flakes
  • Salt and pepper, to taste

Fry bacon over high heat until crispy. Add the kale, reduce to medium-high heat, and sauté kale until hot. Add the lemon zest, juice, olive oil, chili flakes, and salt and pepper. Taste, adjust seasonings as needed, and serve hot, alongside something equally tasty.

I am one of those dorks on her laptop in the café on the corner. Make this corn.

~ wellfedemily ~ 3 Comments

We moved. We’re in! And we’ve almost found our way through the boxes. Cooking has been light, though I was pleased to discover that the kitchen I thought was smaller is bigger than I thought. Still small, but with storage, and counter-tops I can work on without having to spread out onto the table.

On Sunday night, which was the end of moving day, we settled in for a team-effort meal, Grace’s artfully spiced ribs, crock-pot beans, and this corn. I didn’t have mint – I had basil. Go make the corn tonight. It is wonderful. If you don’t have mint or basil, spoon a bit of pesto into the pan with the corn. Whatever your situation, joy, or plight, it this corn will be exactly what you need.

Oh! And thank you for your happy thoughts. We moved without a hitch, and the rain stayed away until just after the last box was dragged inside. I have no Internet right now, but I’m committed to holiday blogging, and will have something sumptuous for you soon enough. We’re almost unpacked. Everything is coming together, which is my mantra, and I must keep repeating it.

Soon. Cranberries. I shall return.

When it’s rainy and windy and there are boxes everywhere and if you live in Vancouver, go to The Three Lions Café.

~ wellfedemily ~ 3 Comments

It was Nick’s birthday, and we are in the throes of moving. I got him this. There are boxes everywhere, and I am not buying much in the way of groceries until we get to our new place. So for Nick’s birthday, we went to that most glorious of gastropubs, The Three Lions Café. It is a place where we are regulars, and where I always leave utterly satisfied, completely at peace, mumbling adverbs and rubbing my belly. The beer list is eclectic and always delightful, and the waitresses are personable and funny and always recommend something I’ll like. Kayla is my favourite, although she wasn’t there Wednesday night. There are at least two bartenders that I am aware of, and both are extra attractive, but not in that aloof, self-important Vancouver way that actually isn’t very attractive at all. Everyone is really, really nice.

And the food.

The food.

They’ve switched over to a fall menu, with sumptuous game meats, rich curries and stews, and warm, bright tastes in addition to their regular menu items, which are classics no matter where you’re from. We usually order fish and chips, or bangers and mash. But this time, I ordered the rabbit.

The rabbit ragoût. Though they called it ragu, which is also acceptable.

That was some tasty Thumper.

It was perfection. Delicately spiced, though bursting with black pepper and earthiness – those mushrooms. The bartender, who was also our waiter, Victor, recommended it and he was absolutely right. Just look at it.

The photo doesn’t do it justice, but I don’t believe that there’s a camera out there that would. The spinach – so creamy. The capers – so crispy. And I would quit my job and leave my husband for those mushrooms. We would run away together and be so happy.

Sometimes a meal is so good it’s just worth sharing, and I wanted to share it with you.

Even if there wasn’t a bite left over for anyone to try.

If you’re in Vancouver, check out The Three Lions. You will certainly love it like I love it, I’m sure of it. But don’t go too often – I would cry if I ever had to wait in line. It’s that kind of delicious. And, the way I think about it, it’s mine.

The Three Lions Café | 1 East Broadway | Vancouver, BC V5T 1V4 | (604) 569-2233

I got crabs from Paul.

~ wellfedemily ~ 3 Comments

Plaid.Saturday was a good day. Crisp, a little chilly because the west coast has decided it’s not summer anymore and now periodically sneezes cold air to remind us that this is Canada and we ought to be wearing jackets. Well, not that cold, but it was a tad nippy at the water, which is where we were. Paul decided to teach us about crabbing. Dungeness crabbing.

Crabbing involves cages and beer. And, to look at my companions, it also seems to involve plaid.

Baited.

Tossed.

Perhaps not enough plaid, as I didn’t get the memo on the dress code, which could explain why we didn’t catch all that much. I DID wear my crabbing socks, though it wasn’t a solid enough effort, apparently.

Hotness.

We caught starfish.

Murky ... can you make out what this is?

Prickly.

And I kept getting excited, because it looked like we were catching the kinds of things we could most certainly cook immediately and eat. I even helped.

Crabbing makes me look fat.

I am squealing with anticipation and glee in the background.

This one didn't measure up.

But every time we caught something, we’d have to throw it back, because of Paul’s “ethics” and the stupid “law.” So we tossed a lot of otherwise edible critters back into the sea, and we waited, and drank beer, and Nick whined about the cold because he’s a bit of a pansy delicate.

Ultimately, we had to quit on Saturday because there was a karaoke dance party I needed ample time to sparkle my cleavage for, and also it got a little windy and we all had to pee.

And then the rest of the weekend happened, and then I promised you I’d tell you all about soup and liar with my pants on fire that I am, that didn’t happen. Because today, Paul went crabbing. And he caught three. And then, not an hour later, he appeared at our front door with a bucket of crabs and a chilled bottle of wine.

Which is infinitely more fun to talk about than soup.

And ordinarily, the first crab or lobster of a given season is to be prepared in its purest form, and that is boiled in salt water and served hot with melted butter. You can get creative with future crabs, of course – I like to wok-fry them in 1/4 cup butter, 2 tablespoons of sriracha or chili-garlic sauce, three cloves of minced garlic, and a handful of chopped scallions. If you’d prefer not to cut into them live, you can pre-boil them, ten to fifteen minutes depending on the size, and then bake them at 500F for eight to ten minutes until everything is sizzling and smells good. Paul likes them steamed in white wine, also with butter. The possibilities are buttery and almost endless.

Paul, avec Crab.

Legs + Butter + My Mouth, please.

Dunk!

Happy unsexy badger.

And we ate and ate and ate and I ate all the parts no one else wanted and we were stuffed, and it was wonderful. I doubt I’ve ever eaten a fresher crab, and I am a contented badger now, at almost 1:00 am as a result. Right now? I’m boiling shells down for stock and making bagels, which is unrelated but also quite exciting. It may not just be soup to tell you about this week, after all. I can’t wait, I can’t wait, I can’t wait!!!