Bodacious Bite-Sized Burgers

"You don't have to cook fancy or complicated masterpieces - just good food from fresh ingredients."

-- Julia Child



I absolutely love watching The Food Network. It is, in fact, pretty much the only TV I ever watch. Some of you may remember back when - just prior to commercial breaks - the TV announcers would warn viewers: "Don't touch that dial!" Well, that pretty much sums up my position.

I don't like to watch everything on the channel, however. I am not a big fan of all the competition-type shows. I don't like programs that feature a lot of screaming, swearing, and berating; they just jar my senses and leave me feeling anxious in empathy for the victims. And, as a vegetarian, I really dislike the plethora of grilling shows because of their almost sole devotion to the barbecuing of large slabs of meat.

Speaking of such things, I am really surprised that the Food Network executives have yet to come up with a vegetarian-themed show. The numbers of people following such diets is increasing constantly and it is also clear that even omnivores are consuming more vegetarian dishes than ever before.

There are many programs, of course, that feature all types of food and they often include vegetarian offerings. But is it so annoying when I am curled up on my couch, relaxing and enjoying one of my favourite programs when suddenly they choose to prepare something atavistically meaty. After over 40 years of vegetarianism, meat simply does not appear to be food to me.

So, I was really quite surprised last weekend when I started to feel a strong craving for one of the foods I saw being praised to the heavens on 'The Best Thing I Ever Ate.' The show's topic was 'food you can eat with your hands' and the most appealing item was called a 'slider'. They cooked up tiny little meatballs, squished them together and topped them with fried onions and a host of other possible toppings, then popped them into a tiny bun. Each order contained four of them and the chef eating them (and praising them) simply couldn't resist their allure.

Later that afternoon we were shopping for dinner at 'No Frills' and everything I looked at seemed to fall flat. They were all things I enjoyed, of course, but that particular day they just wouldn't do. I knew I had my dinner chosen when I spied the cutest, thin little President's Choice 'slider buns' in the bakery section.

The rest was easy. I picked up some old cheddar which happened to be on sale, and also a small tin of pizza sauce. Then, I scuttled over to the frozen section and tossed a box of President's Choice 'World's Best Meatless Meatballs' into my cart. I could hardly wait to get home.

I was really, really famished when I arrived in my kitchen, so I was thankful that the sliders were so amazingly quick to prepare. The meatless meatballs are pre-grilled so they need only about one minute in the microwave. But before putting them in the oven, I set 6 balls on a small plate - three sets of two, nestled together. Over each set I spooned a little pizza sauce, and over that I grated a little old cheddar.

When I took them out, the meatless meatballs were cooked through, the sauce was hot, and the cheese was nice and bubbling. I then scooped up each set with a spoon and placed them on the three little buns I had separated beforehand. They smelled amazing and they tasted so earthy and scrumptious. I treasured each and every bite and afterward I licked my fingers.

Were they 'the best thing I ever ate with my hands'? Well, this week, with this wonderful memory still so present, I would have to say they are a serious contender. As Rachel Ray is so fond of saying, "Yum-O!"

Cheers!

Diane


I hope you will try these little delicacies some hot summer day when you crave something more substantial than a salad but don't want to turn your stove or oven on.

There are SO many more great products and ideas on the 'President's Choice' website:

http://www.presidentschoice.ca

Personally, I have never met a PC product I didn't love!

Don't Mess With Breakfast!

"All happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast."

-- John Gunther



How often have you heard that breakfast is the most important meal of the day? Do you believe it? Are you someone who religiously abstains from food in the morning? Or are you someone who relishes the first meal of the day?

If you are, in fact, a breakfast eater, then I would be willing to bet that you tend to gravitate to certain dishes or even foods as a default setting. Most likely a nice, hot cup of coffee is high on your list. Then, maybe toast, bagels, or muffins; maybe oatmeal or cold cereal; maybe an egg or two, a bowl of fruit salad, or even a protein-enhanced fruit smoothie.

It is also highly probable that you enjoy one type of breakfast on early and rushed weekdays, and quite another on more leisurely weekend mornings. But within each setting I expect your choices don't vary too much. I know mine don't. I can't count the number of times I have oohed and aahed over a delectable breakfast menu in a restaurant and then gone ahead and ordered my 'usual' -- two eggs scrambled dry, rye toast (also dry), and peanut butter. It is, unfortunately, completely predictable; my only hope for excitement is if the coffee turns out to be especially good.

Over the years I have had endless food-related chats with people from all over the world and I have learned several very interesting things. For one, people will often eagerly try out a new recipe or perhaps a new type of ethnic restaurant for dinner on the weekends when time seems more expansive. But at breakfast time, even the most liberal cooks and diners tend to be more conservative.

People seem to crave comfort in the mornings and few things can comfort us in the way that familiar foods can.

Now, exactly what those foods are will depend on your country of origin, or even your family's homeland. It is a given that people from all over the world love to drink coffee in the morning. It is after the beverage is looked after that the variety begins.

In much of Asia, breakfasts of rice, vegetables and a little meat are the most common. Indians enjoy rice as well, however it is often given a very creative twist as in the case of 'idlis'. Idlis are absolutely scrumptious little puffy cakes made from a fermented mixture of rice and split peas which are steamed to perfection and served with an incredibly earthy and tasty sauce that is so amazing I simply can't find words to describe it. (To be completely honest, I am describing my Indian friend Winona's idlis, as they are they only ones I've ever tried; and why would I ever try any others?)

Europeans for the most part like to eat sliced meats for breakfast, along with boiled eggs, cheeses, and an abundance of fresh breads and rolls along with jams and honey.

Middle Eastern breakfasts lean toward beautiful and very sweet pastries of all descriptions, but also consist of boiled eggs, cucumbers, tomatoes, and fruit.

In Britain, morning 'fry-ups' are quite common. Here you will find eggs, bacon, sausages, tomatoes, potatoes and even bread, all fried up to the max in bacon grease. On top of this, in Ireland you would get some Irish soda bread and jam as well; and in Scotland you would find oatcakes, scones with jam, no doubt some nice, thick oatmeal and a few kippered herrings. Of course, the kippers would be fried.

Things are a little more relaxed in Greece where you would be served a breakfast of bread, cheese, fruit and coffee. And they are even simpler in Italy where you could sit at an outdoor patio, enjoying a tasty pastry along with a steaming cup of cappuccino while you read the paper and get a start on your day.

All of these very different breakfasts have something in common; they are all highly comforting to those people who find them familiar -- maybe even something that takes them back to their childhoods.

But I have to wonder this: why is it, exactly, that we all seem to crave such comforting in the mornings? Why not turn this desire on its head and start each new day celebrating the simple, yet amazing, fact that we are alive to the experiences of a new day? As we all know too well, one day (far off in the future, I hope!) this will not be true. But why wait? The time to celebrate is now. And what better way to celebrate than to branch out a bit and try something different for breakfast? You'll do nothing less than broaden your horizons. And who knows? You might even just feel a little bit more alive.

Cheers!


Diane


Both the photo and recipe this week are from a very interesting and fun blog entitled 'Siri's Corner':

http://siri-corner.blogspot.com/2009/07/potato-chip-frittata-muffins.html

When I came across this recipe, I knew it was just the whimsical breakfast treat I was looking for. It is vegetarian, nutritious, and low carb. It also looks exquisitely tasty!

My partner, Mark, is a very big fan of President's Choice ketchup potato chips. And since he worked very, very hard last weekend, and will again this weekend on our latest decorating project, I am going to make these for him. And I expect they will make both of us very happy indeed.

Luscious Asparagus! A Sure Sign of Spring

"The world's favourite season is the spring. All things seem possible in May."

-- Edwin Way Teale


The summer my sister, Kathie, and I turned 17 and 20, respectively, we enjoyed a brief but fun holiday together in Wasaga Beach, a small town on the south shore of Georgian Bay, here in Ontario. It was a lively little summer beach town with lots of sun, sand, clear blue water, and plenty of youthful energy crackling in the air.

During our stay, we happened to meet a very pleasant older gentleman who told us he was an asparagus farmer. Looking back, I have no idea exactly how old he was; in fact, he may very well have been only in his thirties! Anyway, he was very proud of his asparagus farm and quite charming in his passion for the vegetable itself. He seemed shocked to learn that I had never ever eaten asparagus and he said he would love to give us some of his crop so we could experience the wonderful flavour. That, however, was impossible as it was now August and the asparagus season is most definitely in the spring.

Well, the very next year, my brother, Bill, celebrated his 16th birthday at the beginning of May and as I was working full-time and earning some money (for the first time), I wanted to treat him to a fancy dinner. Normally our small town and environs had pretty slim pickin's in fine dining, but, fortunately, a new place had just opened its doors. That was 'The Benmiller Inn', a very old former woolen mill on a winding river just east of our town, which had been painstakingly renovated and reborn as quite a posh inn. It also housed an upscale dining room! It was the finest dining establishment in our whole area and everyone was all abuzz about it.

I made reservations way ahead for just Bill and me. Because I was a vegetarian, and so was Bill at the time, I made sure to request special dinners for us when I called. This was back in the mid-seventies, after all, and there wasn't a chance in the world that there would be any vegetarian options on their rather chi-chi (i.e. catering to the 'big city folk') menu.

I wasn't even daring to hope for something delicious. Not back then. I was quite accustomed to being served either a boring garden salad or an even more pedestrian plate of raw vegetables as a main course in restaurants while my table mates got to enjoy the tasty dishes. I was more focused on soaking up some of that rare atmosphere.

I'm sure you can imagine our absolute delight when the very courteous waiter set down before us two absolutely gorgeous warm plates of various coloured and cooked vegetables along with the most perfect rice, all lightly drizzled with delectable French cream sauces.

Now, so much time has gone by since that evening that I no longer remember the exact items that were served. It is a lovely (and precious) memory, of course, but the picture has become quite fuzzy over the years.

What I do remember quite clearly, however, is the asparagus! Both green and white. So delicate! So tender! So 'melt-in-your-mouth with buttery goodness'. I had absolutely no idea whatsoever that a 'mere' vegetable could be so outstandingly delicious. Wow!

At that time of my life I was really, really fond of desserts, especially anything of the chocolate variety. But, incredible as it may be, I retain no memory at all of the particular decadent dessert I enjoyed that night. Over time, most of the details of that birthday dinner have been erased.

But, my oh my, do I ever remember that asparagus!

Cheers!

Diane


For this week's recipe I am giving you "Lemon Asparagus Risotto". This is a beautiful, creamy Italian rice dish which in this case was prepared by a French chef. Both photo and recipe are courtesy of Laura Calder of 'French Food at Home' on the Food Network.

http://www.foodnetwork.ca/recipes/Side/Rice-Grain/recipe.html?dishid=9130

I promise you that when you eat this lovely dish, you will taste the flavour of spring.

When the Ordinary Becomes Extraordinary

"Food is not about impressing people. It's about making them feel comfortable."

-- Ina Garten
"The Barefoot Contessa"


It will come as no surprise to you that I love to watch The Food Network. Just this past weekend I happened to see part of a program about the creation of a gourmet supermarket in Toronto. It appears to be enormous in size, that's for sure, but since it is still under construction I can only try to imagine what the finished entity will be like, or what products will be proudly on display.

After all, there already seems to be a plethora of up-scale supermarkets just bursting at the seams with exotic grocery items. And, honestly, even the most basic stores now carry a vast array of foods and products that our mothers (or grandmothers) would never have dreamed of finding on the shelf.

I know that my own children's concept of 'ordinary food' would have seemed outrageously exotic to me as a child. Our small town in rural Southwestern Ontario was pretty much cut off from the delights of international cuisine. Except, of course, for the obligatory Chinese restaurant uptown (always 'uptown', never 'downtown') which sported the not-so-traditional Chinese name, "The Esquire Restaurant'. Even so, dining there would no doubt have at least opened up my mind and my taste buds just a little, however we never ate there. No, my parents were pretty solid on the idea that eating in restaurants was horribly wasteful and needlessly extravagant. Eating was what you did at home.

Flash forward a few decades and my kids grew up thinking nothing of eating Chinese stir-fries, Mexican tacos and quesadillas, Italian lasagne and other pasta dishes, as well as the big favourite - Indian curries. These dishes are so familiar to them that they take them as common and ordinary and not in the least exotic. And I expect the astonishingly extensive offerings of today's supermarkets must seem pretty commonplace as well.

But the world I lived in as a child in the late fifties and early sixties was a very different world indeed. For instance, I spent my entire childhood never once having seen the inside of a supermarket. I had, in fact, never even heard the word 'supermarket' and I'm not sure it even existed back then. What we had in our town was one, and only one, 'grocery store'. It was small, it was plain, it didn't carry any 'fancy-schmancy' foodstuffs; and it was owned by a local couple whom everyone who shopped there knew personally.

So why wasn't I familiar with this essential town business? Because not only did I never have occasion to visit there, neither did my mother. How could that be? Well, my mother never did learn to drive and had five children at home, so her solution was to simply write out a shopping list during the week and then phone in her order on Friday mornings. Then, each Friday afternoon a truck would pull up in front of our house and a delivery man would drop off one, or maybe even two, boxes of groceries.

Our meals were quite plain and extremely predictable. Certainly no herbs or spices were ever used and never, ever any garlic. They were really such a far cry from most of the dishes I enjoy today. But, even so, we always seem to have such an incredibly strong and comforting connection to the foods that fueled our childhoods. I hear this over and over again from all sorts of people, no matter where in the world they grew up. It seems to be a universal truth.

Last week my sister, Sandy, mentioned that she was planning to make an old-fashioned meatloaf recipe that she and Mom had made together about 20 years ago when Mom had travelled to northern B.C. for a visit. Sandy said it had smelled wonderful while cooking and then tasted even more delicious. Plus, it had the extra appeal of reminding her of long-ago childhood meals. Sandy liked it so much she continued to make it over the years, although since she became vegetarian she has used "Yves Veggie Ground Round" instead of the ground beef.

Last Friday, the temperature suddenly plummeted and it was raining as well; a dark and gloomy day more like mid-November than the beginning of May. After work, I knew Mark would be heading out from Goderich to my place in London, through this wretched weather - and on his motorcycle. I knew he would be needing something nice and hot to warm up his frigid bones.

I decided to shop at a supermarket on the way home and pick up the necessary ingredients for Sandy's recipe. When I got home, Mark had just arrived, so while he changed into dry clothes and tried to get his circulation going again, I busied myself with cooking. In no time at all I had whipped up the veggie 'meatloaf', some creamy mashed potatoes with vegetarian brown gravy, some mixed vegetables with cheese sauce, and a bowl of fresh cole slaw. Mom would have been proud!

And, my goodness, it was wonderful! Mark felt warmed and rejuvenated and my son, Daniel, pronounced the loaf delicious and actually surprisingly 'meaty'.

As for me, just before sitting down to eat, I looked out of the dining room window at the cold and the rain and the wind and I shivered. Then, I began to eat my steaming hot and homey dinner and I felt a familiar warmth washing over me. This was comfort food at its best; I just loved it! And although I could still hear the noise of the swirling winds outside, I also came very, very close to hearing the sounds of my dear mother, bustling away happily - way, way back in my cozy childhood kitchen.

Cheers!

Diane


Here is a link to my sister, Sandy's well-used recipe, compliments of "Uncle Ben's".

http://www.unclebens.ca/en-ca/Recipes/RecipeFinder.aspx#RecipeID=2245

I think it would be much, much better with "Yves Original Ground Round", but that's only my opinion. (And Sandy's!)

Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries

"He who likes cherries soon learns to climb."

-- German Proverb



If you could suddenly transport yourself to Japan this week, do you know what you'd most likely end up doing? Probably a good deal of exotic 'sakura hanami', and loving every minute of it.

No need to blush, now. In fact, if you happened to bring your children along for the trip, they could happily participate as well.

'Sakura' is the Japanese word for cherry tree and 'hanami' means blossom viewing. I think it's quite lovely that the Japanese have a specific word devoted to the concept of taking the time to enjoy the beauty of cherry blossoms. Their incredible beauty lasts only such a short time that it is considered vital in Japan to stop everything and simply observe them carefully, allowing the joy of the experience to deliciously wash over you.

According to an observer, "The Japanese cherry does not have to produce a market crop because it is a born aristocrat and its single mission is to be beautiful. But it does render a very useful service to the people." (www.canada.com)

Shizuko Mishima (www.gojapan.about.com) writes: "Hanami and cherry blossom festivals are held all over Japan in spring. In hanami parties, people have fun, drinking, eating, and singing during the day or night. It is like a picnic under sakura trees. Usually, people bring food, do BBQ, or buy food from vendors for hanami parties."

Well, I have never been to a hanami, but I do have some amazing memories of our family's own 'cherry blossom festival' back when I was a child.

We lived in a small town at the end of a very long street, in a home that happened to have quite a bit of property. And we were fortunate enough to have had five beautiful cherry trees in our yard! Four were in the back yard, and one - the biggest and the best - was at the far corner of the land extending from the side of the house to the road.

We never ate BBQs, or picnics, or even snacks under our cherry trees. As they were prolific producers of baskets and baskets of fresh, ripe, red cherries, we kids just did the sensible thing. We climbed up into the trees and ate cherries.

It was so much fun! Sitting up on branches in the trees, legs dangling from tree limbs, chatting away and laughing with siblings or friends while picking and eating cherries and spitting the pits onto the ground. It was like a private, cool, leafy tree-house - a wonderfully fun and private 'kid world' all our own.

My Dad always looked after the trees; carefully pruning away dried bits and keeping them safe, and healthy, and looking their best. He knew very well that our family could never hope to consume all of the fruit produced and that it wouldn't take very long for the birds to discover such bounty. He encouraged us to eat as many cherries as we liked, and he was also kind enough to encourage the neighbourhood kids to help themselves as well.

In those days, it seems we were outside as much as possible, roaming around the neighbourhood and exploring, making up games and pastimes as we went along. It wasn't unusual for kids to be yelled at by adults for 'trespassing' on their property and one of the games was certainly seeing just how far you could go without being caught.

But my Dad was never like that and I was awfully proud of him for that. He was so kind and friendly to the neighbourhood kids, and welcomed them to climb the trees, eat the cherries, and even take all they could back to their mothers so they could make cherry pies. I could tell the other kids were a little surprised, but absolutely delighted, by the silly things he would say to amuse them. Like: "Now, if you fall out of that tree and break your leg, don't come running to me!" That always produced a roar of laughter.

In the years since my Dad has been gone, I have had several occasions where people have approached me and told me that they were one of those kids back then. And they have invariably gone on to say how much Dad's kindness and generosity meant to them. And that made me feel even more proud.

I mentioned cherry pies just now, and I couldn't possibly end this post without telling you that my Mom made absolutely the very best and most perfect cherry pies in the known universe. That's a fact. I can so vividly remember her standing at our kitchen counter, whipping up the flakiest, most delectible pastry ever, in no time at all. What a fantastic memory! In my mind's nose I can still smell the intoxicating aroma of her cherry pies baking in our oven. Absolute heaven. I never eat cherry pies now. Why would I? The memory is enough.


Cheers!

Diane


As a child, every year at this time the cherry blossoms would bloom - exactly at the time of my brother Bill's birthday - May 5th - which is today. For as far back as I can remember, whenever I think of cherry trees, or cherry blossoms, I think of him. Happy Birthday, Bill!

And now I have a new person to think about as well. My dear friend, Winona, has a lovely daughter, Melanie, who is turning 10 today. Double digits! Cause for a celebration. Melanie is a bright young lady and a very gifted writer. Keep on writing, Melanie! The world needs to hear your voice.



This week's photo and recipe are courtesy of:

http://allrecipes.com/recipe/dried-cherry-cake/detail.aspx

It looks like a fantastic cake and I am keen to try it. My long-time friend, MaryAnn, has shared her absolute passion for dried cherries with me and I have to agree wholeheartedly. They are fantastic! And so, for Bill, and Melanie, and MaryAnn - this cake is for you. I hope you enjoy it!

"And Now for Something Completely Different!"

"It all comes back to the basic. Serve customers the best-tasting food at a good value in a clean, comfortable restaurant, and they'll keep coming back."

-- Dave Thomas




It seems to me that people tend to spend their lives walking a figurative tightrope between two extremes: comfort and adventure.

Some of us absolutely crave excitement and consistently shun the comforts of life in order to chase yet another adrenaline-charged thrill. And for others, the mere thought of such risk-taking behaviours gives us not a thrill, but a chill down our spines.

Between these opposites, I would imagine that the majority of us spend our lives somewhere in the middle; being seduced by the soothing comfort of familiar faces, places, and routines. But every once in awhile, we feel a desire to (however mildly) shake things up a bit.

Well, anyone who knows me personally at all will have no trouble choosing the category in which I feel the most comfortable. And for those of you who have yet to meet me, I have just given away the answer. I put a great value on safety, calm, and comfort, but as I said earlier, sometimes I pine for "something completely different."

This past weekend, Mark and I drove to Port Huron, Michigan, for an outing, really, and to do a little shopping - mostly grocery shopping. We headed out early (for us) on Saturday morning, stopping to pick up a take-away coffee before leaving the city. It was a pleasant drive and it was mid-morning when we arrived, at last, in Port Huron.

We found ourselves very hungry for breakfast by then, so naturally we wheeled straight in to the parking lot of the 'Daybreak Cafe' which I lauded in an earlier post. We were scarcely able to find a parking spot and we were worried that this was not a good sign. It was, in fact, a good sign for the Cafe as the restaurant was completely full and there was a line-up right up to the front door. It seemed as though the wait would be quite long and we would have been happy to endure it, but the woman ahead of us was so heavily perfumed that we just couldn't manage it.

Once outside, we decided that maybe we should, after all, be a little more adventurous and try another restaurant. We spied "Ted's Coney Island Diner" just down the street, so we set off optimistically. It actually sounded kind of cool. As we walked to the main entrance, we looked through the windows at the practically empty restaurant, and our optimism began to fade a bit. And when we walked inside and were greeted by a theatrical exhalation of smoke by a leathery-faced woman, we both turned and quickly walked out again without saying a word.

What should we do now? Well, there was a "Big Boy" restaurant across the street so we waited for the traffic to die down, then trotted across. It didn't look very appealing. And when the hostess asked us if we preferred 'smoking' or 'non-smoking' we hesitated, then chose 'non-smoking' and sat down with sinking hearts. We didn't like the fact that people were smoking just around the corner and it was a little unsettling. But when the waitress told us that there was, in fact, no breakfast menu, but a breakfast buffet over in the 'smoking' section, our decision was made for us and we quickly scurried out the door.

Back over to the 'Daybreak Cafe' where we found the line-up was gone, and we were seated right away. Ah! Familiar surroundings! Familiar great food! Warm and friendly staff! All that and fresh, hot coffee being constantly topped off. A little bit of breakfast heaven.

The rest of the long day we spent browsing through various stores and doing some shopping and were so busy and having so much fun that we didn't as much as stop for a drink of water. By dinnertime we were both feeling dehydrated and hungry and looking to sit down and relax a bit before organizing all of our purchases and heading home.

It was funny, but as much as we both wanted the comfort of the 'Daybreak' at breakfast, we both craved to eat dinner somewhere new. Somewhere different. Somewhere a little more exciting. And we both had the same idea at once. (As we so often do.)

About a year or so ago, when we were staying in Port Huron for the weekend, we had gone out for dinner at an Italian Restaurant on the Saturday evening, and had gone for a long walk afterward before heading back to the hotel. On the walk we happened upon "The Raven" - a coffeehouse, a pub, a restaurant - and it looked wonderfully appealing. We were delighted with the decor, the ambience, and the soft jazz music and were hoping to linger awhile over exotic coffees and soak in the atmosphere. Unfortunately, they were closing soon and not accepting any new customers. We walked out disappointed, but knew for sure we'd be back one day.

And that day was last Saturday. 'The Raven' is an amazing place! The owner took an old, broken-down building from the Civil War era, completely gutted it, and painstakingly transformed it into a 'magical' place that feels somewhere between an ancient pub in a quaint British village, and a cool, hip coffeehouse/restaurant somewhere in Greenwich Village. and it is, blissfully, smoke-free.

This is how their lovely brochure describes the atmosphere: "Adding to the richness of the interior decor are the stained glass facade windows....These are set off by the colorful tiffany lighting, eye-catching gargoyles and statuary, a virtual library of antique and classic books and dozens of eclectic photographic and poster art prints, secured from the poster galleries of Manhattan.....These elements are tied together by architectural designs incorporating an array of angles, elevations and special spaces, including an upper balcony level with a rear outside deck providing a view of the St. Clair and Black Rivers."

They have a seven page menu featuring real food!! Fresh local ingredients served in interesting, creative, and delicious ways. And they don't even have a deep fryer. Hallelujah!

Mark and I had a wonderful time at 'The Raven'. It was absolutely one of the most memorable places I have ever dined. It was incredibly interesting - so much to look at and talk about. Our waiter was superb; perfectly gracious and seemingly relaxed and in such a good mood, even though the place was hopping and he was seriously busy. And the food was absolutely exquisite. Even now, several days later, I can't stop thinking about our visit to 'The Raven.' It was fun, fun, fun!

I think Dave Thomas knew what he was talking about. 'The Raven' seems to be doing everything right. It is like nothing I've ever seen or experienced before. I strongly encourage any of you who are able to go there, to go. You will be enchanted. I know we were. And we simply can't wait to dine there again. And the next time, we will plan to stay over so we can dash back in the morning for breakfast. Sorry, 'Daybreak', but we're on a roll.

Cheers!

Diane


For my meal, I enjoyed a "Grilled Hummus Veggie Wrap". Now, having been a vegetarian for over 40 years now, I have eaten my fair share of veggie wraps, but nothing else could compare with the sheer deliciousness of this one. I don't have an actual recipe, of course, so I can only share the description on their menu:

"Your choice of our traditional or roasted red bell pepper hummus (my choice) with leaf lettuce, tomato, onion and cucumber in our sun dried tomato tortilla." They don't say, but my guess is that they also added salt and pepper and some chopped fresh cilantro. The wrap is all folded up nice and neatly, then grilled to perfection. The tortilla has slight char marks making it extra tasty, while the inside stays nice and chilled and crisp. A wonderful combination. I certainly plan to try it myself. And soon!

Please check out 'The Raven's' website for more information, and for more inspiration to make a trip there:

http://www.ravencafeph.com

This week's photos and recipe are courtesy of "The Raven", Port Huron, Michigan.


(The expression, "And now for something completely different" is, of course, from Monty Python's Flying Circus. Now, these were certainly lads who knew how to keep expanding their horizons!)

Sitting at the World's Table

"Everything you see I owe to spaghetti."

-- Sophia Loren



For the past six years, since I moved to the city, I have spent most Monday evenings volunteering to help new immigrants practise speaking English. It has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. Each week I have the opportunity to sit around a table at the Central Library and talk, listen, and laugh with an ever-changing group of people from all over the globe.

Over the years, I have noticed the differing patterns of immigration to London. In the early years, most of our newcomers were from Colombia; that was a very broad wave indeed. There are, in fact, so many Colombian immigrants here now that London has earned the nickname "Londombia." French may very well be the other Canadian official language, but you won't hear much French spoken on the streets of London. Our second language is Spanish.

Other years there have been more newcomers from Africa and the Middle East. There are always quite a few Asians, especially those from South Korea. And a few years ago, we enjoyed a large number of highly energized and hilarious young men from Japan. We don't generally have many Europeans, although at the moment we have a couple of great young European women.

I smile whenever I remember a particular European woman who decided to shake things up a bit and move to Canada from France. She had originally moved to Quebec so she could continue speaking her own language but she was quite shocked to find that the Quebecois spoke a very different sort of French. In fact, in her opinion, it was an inferior dialect so corrupted that she had a hard time listening to it without becoming intensely annoyed. She steadfastly refused to speak that way, held firmly to her Parisian French, and as a result succeeded in really annoying the Quebecois in her life who felt she was deliberately trying to sound 'uppity'.

In the end, she decided to solve the problem by moving to Ontario and learning English. At first it was practically impossible to converse with her because she knew so little English, and when six months went by and we hadn't seen her, I thought perhaps she had given up and moved back to France. But, no, she hadn't. She reappeared one Monday evening looking very bright and happy AND speaking English so well it was mind-boggling. I immediately asked her what on earth she had been doing to have achieved such an incredible improvement. Her eyes began to sparkle as she rather coquettishly replied, "O! Mon Dieu! I 'av foun' a English boyfren!"

It truly is a remarkable experience to be able to sit and talk with people who have come here from all over the earth. Every week the mix changes and that really makes it interesting. It feels something like a mini-U.N., but on a very casual and friendly level. It is a wonderful opportunity to explore a bit of the world without having to leave town.

The purpose of our 'Conversation Circle' sessions is simply that - to enjoy conversations with each other. And these conversations are a lot like our lunchroom chats at work. The topics vary widely and they constantly bounce all over the place. There is, however, one topic that pops up again, and again, and again, and never fails to elicit enthusiastic participation. And that is the subject of food.

Everyone loves to eat, and many people love to cook as well. It doesn't matter where people have come from, they always seem to become more passionate in their speech and their mannerisms when talking about their favourite foods and dishes from their homelands. We learn a lot about different food traditions, listen to stories about special occasions or humorous events - all revolving around food.

Sometimes recipes are shared. And on occasion, a few of us have had to dash upstairs to the cookbook section of the library to track down a dish that a newcomer loves dearly and wants to tell us about, but is unable to come up with a description in English. I have also had several participants bring me gifts of traditional foods and that is always a wonderful treat.

Two weeks ago I was at the table with the two lovely young European women I mentioned earlier. Adriana is a Hungarian formerly living in Slovakia, and Alessandra is an Italian, but very proudly from Sardinia. As usual, that evening we talked a lot about food. And what a fun conversation that was! Adrianna and Alessandra are very charming women whose extremely positive energy is quite a joy just to be around. They each have such a sparkling wit - even while speaking English! - that we spend a lot of time in thralls of laughter.

This particular evening, Alessandra was telling us about a traditional Sardinian dish - 'linguine al pesto' - and she was making us all very hungry with her description. She wondered if she could buy a pot of basil to grow at her apartment so she could cook with it, and make this dish. I told her where I had recently seen such pots of basil for sale and then another woman suggested that she could just buy pesto from that very supermarket. To be polite, I turned to Alessandra and agreed that, yes, she could indeed buy ready-made pesto at that store.

Alessandra then opened her eyes very wide in mock horror, and with a smile on her lips she playfully punched me on the arm. And then, with the well-known sweeping arm gesture of dismissal that her compatriots are famous for, she responded. "I would never buy pesto!!" she cried. "I am Italian!" Point taken. Point taken, indeed.

Cheers!!

Diane

This week in Alessandra's honour, I am giving you a recipe for 'Linguine al Pesto'. Alessandra strongly suggests that a peeled and chopped up potato be cooked along with the linguine as it apparently makes all the difference in the taste and texture of the dish.

This post's photo and recipe are courtesy of:

http://recipes.howstuffworks.com/classic-pesto-with-linguine-recipe.htm

I hope you will try it and enjoy the beautiful, fresh, springtime taste of the homemade pesto. And don't, for heaven's sake, even THINK about buying it!!!