An evening of snow removal, Olympic torch sightings, and fireworks

Having just invested in indoor parking last week, I had little to be concerned about both yesterday, when the snow fell and fell and fell, or today, when it was pushed,  sucked, and relocated into various piles throughout the city.

Early this evening, two tow trucks blared their horns down the street, followed by mini ploughs which flitted about like small chittering animals, clearing the sidewalks. Initially, I hoped they heralded the Olympic torch relay, but then figured we were too far east for that (darn, missed free hot dogs in Westmount tonight). Snow ploughs pushed the slush increasingly to the right. Several illegally parked SUVs were sniffed over by tow trucks, but were strangely left untowed. More horn blaring (a jarring five or six times in all). Then a bizarre, long train of flashing police cars cruised by…followed by vans with LED signs proclaiming that la flamme Olympique would be arriving in a few minutes! It was indeed the Olympic torch relay!

I forced my napping husband awake to gawk with me as the police train continued on (15-20 cars in all), cheered from the curb by small groups of well-bundled art gallery patrons and a santa claus wielding a santa-topped flashlight. After an endless parade of bicycle cops and Olympic minibuses and trucks, we at last spotted the low-key, jumpsuited torch bearers, confidently strolling with the iconic torch, secure in the knowledge that 15-20 of Montreal’s finest cruisers (and a half dozen bicycle cops) were between them and anyone trying to repeat the Olympic dousings from two years ago. The robust flame was easily visible from a distance and captivated me in primal pride at human’s ability to make fire; the bearers presented themselves and the torch with admirable dignity.

Once they had marched past us, everyone rushed back inside and the horn-tooting tow trucks, skittering mini ploughs, and snow ploughs again recommenced their noisy business. The snow was pushed to the right in long powdery tracks, then sucked up and transported to various dump sites throughout the city.

Shortly afterwards, we were treated to the second fireworks display of the winter festival, which perfectly coincided with our chevre, cheddar, crackers, and tea cakes repast. Tonight’s show seemed brighter, stronger, and perhaps even closer to us than the first one had been. Rather a good night, wot.

Eggs: Chicken, Turkey, or Duck (if one had to choose)

After salivating over Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma last year after attending a talk promoting his unfortunate sequel, In Defense of Food, I took upon myself a quest for the perfect farm fresh egg. I, too, wanted to savor the rich, flavorful egg of a pastured chicken fed on grubs and grass, with a yolk as dark and inviting as a deep autumn sun. I immediately invested in a half share in a local CSA (Scratch Farm, which I highly recommend) because I hadn’t yet discovered farmer’s markets…but when I did, I ventured to the weekly farmer’s market in Pawtucket, RI solely for the eggs and the apple sauce (Hill’s Orchards – makes the best apple anything in RI), garlic stems and fresh English peas. I loved getting a dozen Zephyr Farm eggs, which were from a variety of pasture-raised hens, gifting the cook with a bouquet of different sizes and colors. After reading an article in the Providence Journal about green eggs with large yolks, I dutifully bought a carton of Azuluna at the Abomination itself – er, at Whole Foods.

So when I happened upon a stall at the Jean Talon market selling large dinde and duck eggs, I was simply incapable of walking by without first shelling out $5 for 3 speckled turkey eggs and 3 white duck eggs. That night, I hurriedly went to bed, intent upon awakening early so I could crack open my very first turkey egg for breakfast. Which I did – after some effort. The large shell itself was thicker than a hen’s, and after a hardy crack upon the counter, I ended up almost peeling half of the egg of its sturdy shell before having to rip open the membrane with two hands, freeing the white and double yolk into the warm, waiting pan of butter. Gently fried at a med-low temperature for ~5 min., the turkey egg was tender and flavorful.

Sadly, subsequent frying attempts were not as magical, as the lower water content of turkey eggs makes it easy to overcook them into rubber (which, after mastering the art of a succulent slow poached egg, is now intolerable). The next taste test was a side-by-side tasting of fried duck and turkey eggs. And, surprisingly,  despite the celebrated richness of the duck egg, the turkey eggs had more flavor, clearly tasting like a bird who’s been happily munching on something green and/or wriggling. The duck, alas, failed to distinguished itself.

While eggs fried in butter are an enjoyable repast, I’d like to make it through the holidays with both my heart and waist size intact. So today they were slow poached. After an hour and eight minutes of roughly 64 degrees C, the duck egg emerged a perfect ovoid; the turkey egg was undercooked, probably due to its thicker shell and wider girth since both eggs were about the same size. Again, the turkey yolk clearly had more flavor.

Not sure yet what will become of the remaining duck egg, but I suspect a quiche alsacienne might be in its future. While I enjoyed the flavorful turkey eggs and would purchase them again on occasion, their thick membranes make it tricky to preserve the yolk and keep bits of shell out of the food. The duck eggs did not have a sufficiently unique flavor to warrant enjoyment on their own over chicken eggs, but I suppose the next round of taste tests will involve baking the two varieties in a couple of dishes to observe their culinary teamwork when combined with other ingredients. I would probably measure them by volume (1/4 c. of egg = ~1 large chicken egg) in order to substitute.

Doesn’t Canada have a large emu and ostrich industry? Where are the emu and ostrich eggs?!

My First Self-Cooked Thanksgiving (part 2: the Conclusion)

Despite 2 1/2 days of thawing in the fridge, the 11 lb. turkey was still partially frozen when I unwrapped it at 3pm. It took several minutes of running water over it to even pry out the giblets and neck. After some hasty googling, I came up with submerging the unfortunate thing in cool water for an hour, draining and refilling it twice. The turkey gods were smiling -it worked! A tiny circular sink is impractical for washing dishes but just the right size for last-minute turkey defrosting.

I salted and peppered the cavity and added fresh rosemary, lemon halves, and a whole garlic half. Rubbed softened butter all over the skin and salted and peppered both sides. 1 hour in a convection oven at 350 degrees F, then reduced to 325 for another 1 1/2 hours, and poof. Perfectly browned turkey (though perhaps slightly overcooked by 15 min.) with an internal temperature of 181 degrees. While slightly overcooked, it was breast side down so the meat was still moist and enjoyable. Defatted and lightly reduced drippings were used as gravy.

The menu included: roast turkey; gravy; roasted pumpkin, sweet potato, and apple puree from the NYTimes; herbed mashed potatoes; stir fried Brussel sprouts with bacon; peas in butter sauce; canned cranberry sauce. Dessert was a tarte tatin (my very first attempt, including my first attempt at pâte sucrée) with fresh whipped cream and a nice, spicy ice cider. I had asked my in-laws for their stuffing recipe, but in the end simply couldn’t manage it with the other dishes.

The very best part? Mom called me a good cook for the first time and my finicky husband got seconds of the tarte tatin made especially for him. Ahhhh. It was a Thanksgiving dinner well done, even if it was stuffing-less.

Broadway Cheesecake at Ave. du President-Kennedy; C-

Despite repeated efforts to enjoy the candy-themed mini cheesecake offerings at this refridgerated-counter shop, the cheesecake remains quite overpriced (including a McGill discount) and lackluster. The cheesecakes are too chilled to enjoy on site, though they are packaged in cute containers to go. Worst of all offenses, they make an unpalatable hot chocolate, which gave no hint of chocolate and had an unpleasant texture to it which even managed to spoil the canned whipped cream on top. No experience with the salads or sandwiches.

655 Ave. du President Kennedy

metro: McGill

La Maison Kam Fung; B

Buried on the second floor of an unassuming little mall in Chinatown lies a bustling, no-frills dimsum resto. The rapid turnover was impressive, even at 1pm on a Sunday with a crowded waiting area, and once seated it was easy to get a cart server’s attention. Dish selection was decent, especially the fragrant lotus-wrapped sticky rice; the taro cake was a little tough and we were once served cold deep fried taro-wrapped pork.  The tab for 5 dimsum dishes was an astonishingly cheap $18, sans tip (it would have been a few bucks more had they had chive dumplings).

1111 Rue St. Urbain, Unit M05 (2nd floor) at Blvd. Rene Levesque O.

metro: Place d’Armes

My first self-cooked Thanksgiving (part 1): got the turkey

I’m entering Julie Powell-dom a little bit here by starting this series, but this is a food blog, after all, and this will indeed be quite a milestone for me as a sort-of newlywed. Last week, my parents heavily hinted that they were planning on driving up to Montreal for Thanksgiving (US-Thanksgiving, that is). I said ok, but gave them Sunday as a deadline to confirm, to allow for turkey defrosting time. H1N1 and a couple of days later on Saturday, they confirmed that they were coming up. Holy cow.

I’m still not at 100%, but like that huge boulder than almost squished Indiana Jones in the Temple of Doom, a first parental visit on a major holiday waits for no one and must be managed accordingly. I finally ventured out today to start stocking up the pantry and most importantly, acquire an 11lb. turkey, which is now defrosting in my fridge. There was a scary moment when I visited my favorite IGA, only to find “seasoned” turkeys meant to be popped straight into the oven from the freezer, but eventually found what I was looking for when I swung around and up to Loblaws, which had the goods. No disposable turkey pans, though (now if the ‘rents had indicated this might be happening earlier…say, at the beginning of Oct. when the Canadians were paying homage to their own turkeys…I might have been able to stock up on essential turkey items such as those). I’m hoping that the bird will be narrow enough to be roasted in my long Pyrex pan – the one I usually reserve for Mexican chicken casserole or summer vegetable gratin for company. I’m hoping that I won’t have to truss it – I like crispy extremities.

Milk + cider vinegar = buttermilk substitute

I was credulous when hearing even Martha, the culinary maven, proclaim that mixing dairy and cider vinegar would produce buttermilk. However, courtesy of H1N1, I opened my fridge mid-biscuit making to find sour, week-expired buttermilk. Ew. Now was as good a time as any, and I dutifully mixed 1 c. whole milk (ok, with just a tad cream, too) with 1 T. cider vinegar. Watched. Waited. Applied. Baked. Ate. Enjoyed.

While the buttermilk substitute did not have the rich taste of buttermilk (alas), it did the job in reacting with the leveners to produce scrumptious biscuits (copycat Red Lobster Cheddar Bay Biscuits, to be exact, although Gruyère was substituted in as well). My husband/taste tester’s only complaint? “I didn’t much care for the garlic.”

Got the flu. Bad.

It may/may not be H1N1, but I can tell you this – I haven’t been this floored by illness since getting pneumonia in college. Fatigue, persistent cough, runny nose, headache, fever, chills, and even trouble putting a complete thought together since Monday. It hurts to talk; it hurts to think. Even my attempt at making fresh chicken stock for myself failed when I let the stock get too hot – the fat emulsified into it, turning the usually clear flavor muddy. I’ve been staying inside all week, in bed, weakly googling what’s going on with the world at large and watching film after film after film. On the plus side, I finally got to see Julie and Julia. Another bonus are upcoming reviews on Dominos.ca and a mediocre Chinese takeout place.

Slow poached eggs

I’m currently working my way through the Top Chef Masters first season, and was intrigued by the ravings over Chef Wylie Dufresne’s slow poached eggs. I love coddled eggs, so decided to try it out today.

Firstly, it’s incredibly hard to maintain a water bath of 64 degrees C on a flat top range – and no, I have not yet converted to metric, that’s just the direction from the recipe. It turns out that the setting to use is below low/warm, even just past turning the burner on. I had to check it every 5 min. or so with my digital meat thermometer, adding cold water when necessary or removing it for a minute from the burner to keep the temperature constant. I waited around 59 min., ran cold water over it, then dug in with a spoon.

Pure decadence. The whites were translucent white and the consistency of a very light custard (you’re supposed to chill them to set them, but I couldn’t wait and was glad I’d cracked the egg into a bowl and not a plate); I achieved the famed fudge texture of the yolk. I ate half, then seasoned with the merest bit of salt and pepper…which ruined it, adding a disturbing grittiness to the otherwise delicate dish. No seasoning needed – these slow poached eggs were just heaven.

The only issue with this preparation, aside from the constant babying needed for those without an immersion circulator, is that I don’t think that 64 degrees C is sufficient to kill salmonella. Perhaps I am wrong, especially considering for how long it cooked, which is considerably longer than what you’d get from, say, a carbonara pasta. But it is a consideration.

Taj; A-

This ethnically authentic, upscale resto has perhaps the best East Indian food downtown. It caters to all audiences – families, groups, business associates, and intimate pairs will all enjoy themselves - and the ornately presented bilingual menu has a pleasing selection. Dishes are presented on gorgeous copperware and diners eat on Taj plates. Service is exceptional. Live hand drums allow diners to speak at normal volume. Minimalist Indian decor includes an erotic print on the back of the wine list.

We ordered tightly rolled pappadum and enjoyed the tasty condiments served with it. The moist and tender lamb tikka was my favorite, but the Bombay curry shrimp was also very good; the mixed rice was a nice complement; portions were just right. Super nutty kulfi and oily gulab jamun finished off the meal – while the last wasn’t to my taste, I understand that it’s a popular comfort food.

Update: 12/9/09: On a repeat visit, I again ordered the gulab jamun and, as I was anticipating what I was served, enjoyed it quite well. Perhaps it is an acquired taste. Another must-try dish was the melt-in-your-mouth chicken xacuti.

2077 Rue Stanley at Rue Sherbrooke O.

Metro: Peel