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Ripe yet? It’s tough to know.

I have 150lbs on the back porch right now

Just like every year for the past several years, some of the families in the neighbourhood got together and ordered tomatoes.

Let me be a little more specific: Some of the Italian families who know the value of a basement full of tomato sauce took pity on me and allowed me to ride on their produce-ordering coattails. Apparently about 30 cases of Roma tomatoes showed up on Friday. Five were mine.

One of the neighbours has a food mill. She and her sister turn their tomatoes into passata (crushed tomatoes) with the mill, and they always allow us to borrow it, as who wants to store a food mill for 364 days of the year when you can rent one for a day with a decent bottle of red wine?

Here’s the issue: She gets to deal with her tomatoes first. We work around her schedule and every year it isn’t a problem.

Doesn’t mean I don’t worry, though. The tomatoes last year were perfectly ripe right off the truck. This year, not so sure. Not only were they about a week later than last year being delivered, they also needed at least a week to ripen up. It’s Tuesday. We have had them for 5 days. They’re looking pretty good.

Here’s the question: Do I trust the neighbour who thinks they need a few more days? Or do I trust my gut and do them early? I’m heading out of town this weekend so I either do them on Thursday (2 days’ hence) or wait until Monday.

Will they be too far gone on Monday? Will they be ripe enough on Thursday?

This is the sort of thing that keeps me up at night, you know.

I think I will wait until Monday. I just had one and although it was incredibly tasty, it still had a fair amount of crunch. I think there is still time.

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Never seen something quite like this.

Now I’m all hungry.

All of a sudden, on Saturday evening, the kids were gone and my wife and I were at loose ends for dinner. Usually we have something on the go but this weekend was not like that. My wife suggested we go to Oca Pastificio, a local restaurant where they make fresh pasta, and only fresh pasta. Well, they have a few other bits, but it’s mostly a pasta place.

We had the tasting menu and a bottle of nice Italian wine. I do love throwing myself on the mercy of a chef and asking for some great food. It’s a lot easier than having to decide. And goodness knows there may well be something in the back that will absolutely blow me away, and who better to get that to me than the chef?

The above is one of the dishes we had. It’s a strip of fresh pasta with a line of ricotta and oregano down the middle. Then it’s folded in half and twisted up into a crown like this. I’m assuming it’s cooked in a shallow pan of water and then drained. It’s then finished with butter and lemon.

It was amazing. I bet, in total, there aren’t more than 10 ingredients in this dish, one of which is salt. And one of which is water. This dish is the epitome of what I love about Italian food. Simple. But at the same time, rather creative and really tasty.

My wife and I took a moment to be obnoxious and picked apart the dish (figuratively as well as literally) and sort of figured out how it was done.

I gotta try this one at home. My pizza kick might be coming to a close, to be replaced by a pasta kick. Not a bad nutritional segue, if I do say so, myself.

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My childhood, contained in a single cookie.

Happiness in oatmeal.

Actually there were other cookies. My mother made Lunch Box cookies that were pretty darn tasty, too.

…but these! These chocolate chip cookies rule. They are just the right amount of chewy and substantive, with enough oatmeal to make you *think* you’re eating something that isn’t terrible for you. The 4 cups of sugar (but only 2 cups of white sugar. Brown for the other 2 cups) in the recipe and the 4 cups of chocolate chips don’t do anything to help the healthy street-cred of these treats.

I think it was my grandmother’s recipe, on my mother’s side. Which is noteworthy, because my mom never really talks about her mother and her mother’s cooking. I get the impression that things in mom’s childhood home weren’t really that great kitchen-wise (and, quite possibly in other ways) which is why my mom had to cook from an early age and (possibly) why she never really cared for it. Being forced to cook is a different beast than choosing to cook.

At any rate, my maternal grandmother’s recipe. If it’s not the case then it really doesn’t matter. Honestly, I don’t have it in front of me but I’ll try to post it when I track it down.

Regardless, they are a challenge to make, as the recipe makes enough batter for like 5 dozen cookies. Thankfully, having that many tidbits means the sugar and chocolate chips are spread out among a great number of final cookies.

My mom made these continuiously when I was growing up. My brother and I ate them faster than she could make them. We lived on them. Before school, after school. In later years it was with a cup of coffee (heck, it was my pre-breakfast snack this morning, but I limited myself to just one rather than the half-dozen I would have when I was 12)

it wasn’t long before I was making them, myself. I would churn out a batch on a regular basis. Once I made them a few times it got to the point where they were always the same. Same process, same ingredients (which were always stockpiled – thanks mom!) and 9 minutes in the oven at 375. My wife made the most recent batch – she was achieving superstar status yesterday with both a batch of cookies and a huge pot of hamburger soup. (another post will be forthcoming regarding that recipe)

The cookie I had this morning – It brought me directly back to my parents’ kitchen 4 decades ago. Tasted exactly the same way, and I had exactly the same response.

“Damn, I love these things.”

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You want me to what? Ok, if you insist.

Step one: Lots of heat

When my family and I visited London last year, a friend insisted that we go to Nopi. He told me that we could sit anywhere – even the basement was fine. And so we made reservations and went. We did end up downstairs, sitting at a massive marble table, surrounded by racks of storage for the kitchen.

Dinner was amazing. I remember being totally blown away and even the kids thought it was great.

We came back to Vancouver and at some point in the following months I ordered the restaurant cookbook.

I might have been in a bit of a funk, post-London. It might have been the grey fall weather. Maybe I needed some new eyeglasses. Possibly all three, but in any case I found the cookbook really unimpressive. I looked through the recipes and nothing jumped out at me at all. It felt like the entire volume was not to my palate.

But I decided I had better try something, so I settled on the ‘Burnt Green Onion Dip with Curly Kale’.

Holy cow. I was absolutely amazed. Other recipes have followed and they have been roundly incredible. The only drawback is that if you want to cook any of the meals you had best read the recipe really carefully several days in advance because some things take several days to create. The ‘Strained Ricotta with Blackcurrant Compote and Rhubarb’ takes a week to make, I swear. It’s worth it, but man, days pass.

But I’m writing about the burnt onions. The intro to the recipe states:

“One important point to remember: there’s no such thing as overcharring your onions, so hold your nerve at the grill… The more burnt they are, the better and more smoky they will taste.”

After charring my pizza, this was music to my ears. I love recipe instructions like that.

Getting there – need a bit more time

I love the idea of not being able to go too far when cooking something. I guess it’s like roasting eggplant. More is better.

Of course, I do wonder if maybe I should have kept them on the grill for longer? There always seems to be something to improve upon.

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What’s for Dinner?

“All human history attests

That happiness for man, – the hungry sinner! –

Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner.”

~Lord Byron, Don Juan, Canto XIII, stanza 99

Boy, we have this question a lot in our house. Sometimes it comes from me, sometimes from the kids, sometimes my wife. Strangely, the dog only worries about whether or not she is going to be fed, not what it will be. I guess years of kibble will do that to anyone.

But what a loaded question for the humans in the house:

  • Sometimes it’s a request for information, as in, “Can you check the calendar and see what we have on for dinner tonight?”
  • Sometimes it’s a gauge as to whether or not one (or both) of the kids are interested in sticking around or figure it’s not worth the wait. Ever wonder why we don’t have any meals that everyone hates but ‘should’ eat? It’s because no one would show up to enjoy it with me. And I’m not eating liver and onions alone.
  • Sometimes, though, it carries a lot more weight. Sometimes it’s a plea, “Please figure out what we’re going to eat this evening, as everyone will be hangry and I just don’t have the resources (time and mindspace) to figure it out.”

The first two options are easy to field. For the third, thankfully, we usually have a few dinner items in the freezer for times like these. Tomato sauce and meatballs isn’t particularly pretty (visually or health-wise) as a dinner but it feeds everyone and it means we don’t have to spend a bomb on ordering in marginal, lukewarm food. I’m not sure how things are in your town, but having something delivered from a restaurant in Vancouver is generally underwhelming.

Thankfully, dinner plans at our house haven’t yet involved Biblical serpents and the knowledge that we brought down the entirety of civilization, but there is a certain raised stress level until we can figure it out. Once dinner plans are in place, the day is easier to tolerate.

Of course, if a certain someone forgets to pull something out of the freezer or pick up ingredients at the grocery store then it’s all for naught. Not that I would ever have had that happen to me. Nope.

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The Lake.

View from the Dock. Morning.

It wasn’t smoky. The mornings were cool but not cold, by any means. It was possibly perfect weather, really.

I’m not sure I have ever visited Christina Lake in August. Generally, we head up in July for a couple of weeks, but given the insanity of this year, we decided to sneak up for a few days over the last weekend. That, and the cabin was sitting unused, begging for attention. Our July time slot has as much to do with the fact that we can’t wait until August to get away as anything else, and a second summer trip up there might just become a more regular occurrence.

As always happens, food was a major part of the trip. Heck, there wasn’t much else to do except zip around in the boat, read books, swim… Take the dog for a walk. Plan and prepare food, we did that, too.

There was no work (not that there is a lot these days, anyway) and no household tasks, as they were left far behind.

We defaulted to the usual cabin fare – pizza on the barbecue – and no scorched dough this time, which was good. I tried to just cook just the dough off a little bit, which I think worked all right as the charcoal barbecue I have offers zero heat from above and as a consequence pizza can be a bit soggy. A pizza oven the barbecue is not. It *was my impression* that my mother-in-law (who is the owner of said cabin on said lake and the final arbiter of what is permitted to be set up at the cabin) seemed to be somewhat keen on me building a wood-fired pizza oven, but I might have been mistaken. I’ll have to double check before I bring over several sacks of pre-mix and start troweling.

Regardless, pizza was good. We also did some steaks, and a pulled pork. Before I give the impression that all we did was resort to our inner palaeolithic selves, most of what we ate was vegetables. The pork shoulder did triple duty as dinner for 8 in tacos one night, breakfast the next morning and then a second breakfast the next day, along with numerous incidental snacks.

Lunches were a mish-mash of brunch (as teenagers tend to sleep in quite a bit) and some salads. Rather good, really.

In hindsight, what made the food so good (aside from the fact that everything tastes better at the lake) is that we had the space, mentally, to plan and prepare great meals. We weren’t rushed to try to make any appointments. We didn’t have too many expectations on what we were going to eat – it was all pretty simple and straightforward.

The ancient cookware didn’t help things, but we managed to get around that. I will bring a couple of new non-stick pans out next year as well as a decent French knife. It seems that the entirety of the kitchen is made up with items that are old or superfluous from other kitchens. Some of the cutlery feels like it was never actually meant to be used in a kitchen situation at all. And a couple of the pots have bottoms so thin that they scorch the contents in a moment.

What did help was the fresh fruit we picked up on the way to the lake – there are some farming communities along the route and August is prime season for pretty much everything.

What also helped was my mother-in-law raiding her garden. Salad greens, cherry tomatoes, green onions…

That and some decent sunshine made for unlimited good food.

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It just sort of dropped into my lap.

Not quite manna from heaven, but still greatly appreciated.

This is a common situation in our backyard. Dinner (yet another pizza – I think I’m getting the hang of the dough now. Sort of…) accompanied by a liberal dusting of fruit from above.

Further to my previous posts about pie and, well, pie… Nah, I’m not cool enough to refer to a pizza as a ‘pie’. At any rate the pizza dough I made on Friday for Saturday’s dinner was pretty good. Better than before – after a couple dozen tries I think I’m getting the hang of it. I’ll write about my learning process on dough later.

Here’s what I like about this photo – the juxtaposition of the apple and the pizza. On the one hand a pizza that has taken so many tries to get the dough right. My goodness, I have brought out some pretty marginal doughs over the last couple of years. Still a work in progress. On the other hand you have the apples. The apples, that according to Wikipedia, “…very juicy and has a sharp, refreshing taste.” The apples that literally fall into your lap. Or, in this case on to the table and almost break your wineglass. The apples that make the most incredible pie. When I have made apple pie (only a couple of times) with these apples, I almost feel like I need to stand aside and do as little as possible in order to get the most amazing result. Even my ham-handed pie technique is no match for these apples. They save me in spite of my limited pastry abilities.

As opposed to the pizza dough that seems to want to thwart me at each and every turn. Sometimes I wish pizza dough would fall like the apples, but that might well get messy in a hurry. I’ll stay with the apples.

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Crowding the pan – bacon-style

Go ahead, crowd it in there. Not going to make any difference how it cooks.

One exception to crowding a pan is bacon. You do have to place it on the bottom of the pan, but cramming it in there is nearly a rite of passage, at least in my household.

Of course, the worst is if you have 2 or 3 strips of bacon at the end, and they languish with all that extra space. Planning to crowd the pan is nearly as important as the execution. If you don’t get it right then the entire household can see your poor planning skills.

Never a good way to start the day, that’s for sure. On the other hand, as long as you don’t burn anyone (especially yourself) or over or (God forbid) undercook the bacon then the crowding transgression usually gets a pass.

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Food 8

Miss Woo, in Grade 8. Trying her best to make us less savage.

All I remember was doing a chicken pot pie, but now that I’m looking at the photo, a stir fry was obviously also in the mix. the Chicken pot pie was really rather good.

In grade 8 we had a half-year class in food, and then a quarter year in woodwork and metalwork each. Both woodworking and metalworking have come in handy over the last few decades, but my food class was infinitely more valuable.

I learned how to not burn myself on the stove and what to do if there is a fire. I used a fair amount of baking soda not that long ago to put out a barbecue fire I had allowed to flare up. Worked like a charm. It took the better part of 25 years, but some things (thankfully) stick with you.


I learned some food safety.


I learned how to wash dishes properly.


I learned that the whole ‘men don’t cook’ thing was a crock. That said, I don’t remember any groundswell of amazement by the women in my life over the fact that I knew how to poach a chicken breast properly. Admittedly, I was about 13 years old and ‘clueless’ was a good word to describe how I lived my entire life until I was about 30. It’s also safe to say that men cooking probably wasn’t on the mind of anyone in my peer group – I don’t remember any young women being particularly interested that I could cook. Friends of my parents, and parents of my friends (moms, anyway, the dads were eternally on Mars) thought it was great, though.

Food 8 gave me confidence as well. Confidence to try things in the kitchen, confidence to understand that, at worst, you can simply follow the instructions and you won’t poison any of your guests. My mom might have been on to something there.

Aside from Typing 9, English 12 and Biology 11 and 12, probably the most useful and memorable class.

I still think I should have paid more attention or even taken more cooking classes. #hindsight.

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Local Strawberries

Not sure what happened to the fellow in the middle-right, there, but he was as tasty at the rest.

Sometimes they just don’t get any better than local and fresh. I love how the stems are still on them and they still have some dirt from the field.

Obviously a couple of these berries wouldn’t win any beauty contests, but contests are passé and we have more important things to do than get hung up on looks.

My goodness, they were tasty.

Berry perfection from just a few miles away.

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