jamiemaw

Too often is fine service staff overlooked.

Well, if you insist, as long as the children of the widows have been fed....a series of questions that have been bothering me lately.... As more and more "food blogs" hit the web, what is your take on how a foodblog affects both restaurant critics and wannabes? Are bloggers using their sites as resume builders, ego-boosts, self-indulgent rants, or purely for the love of food (or all of the above?)? After the success of Chocolate & Zucchini, are more and more foodbloggers hoping to use their blog as a means to start a career in food? Does the food blogging phenomenon somehow take away from what restaurant critics specialize in, or does it make those critics all the more valued? ← It seems to me some of the challenges, constraints and opportunities for blogs versus hard publication are: 1. Time versus Money. Blogging is free. But blogging doesn't pay. But the blog audience is constrained by time; without editorial control, it takes time to find useful blogs, and more time to assimilate them. There is such a thing as too much information. Hard publication is necessarily self-levelling: the publication either expensively attracts a paying audience or goes out of business. In order to do so there is editorial direction, fact-checking and, hopefully, connectivity witht the reader. Random thoughts don't count for much; qualified information becomes more valuable. 2. I've taught a section in a university extension class in food journalism. Usually, out of 30 to 40 students, there might be one who combines the literacy, research and interviewing skills, the writing ability and the spirit of mind necessary to advance to an internship role. The others find a useful curriculum, methodology and reading list and are better enabled to pursue and enjoy their passion. 3. The power of forums such as eGullet lies in their interactivity; few blogs enjoy that sense of reach and discussion. 4. The vast majority of blogs will disappear. The energy and interest in keeping up a public diary requires rigour and stamina. Goodness, I've been doing this just since Thursday, and it does take some energy to keep you amused, you know. 5. I'm not sure that food blogs have a great influence on most restaurant critics or food writers, unless they were in a place they shouldn't have been to begin with. All that being said, occasionally a blog might lead us to someone who is saying something new and original. That in turn might lead the blogger to a career in hard publication. Rarely though, I think, would we see the reverse., ultimately for the reason that Dr. Johnson so famously espoused. Cheers, Jamie

Hi Zuke! I'm pretty sure that you meant the Country Squire, which, alas has been closed for a couple of years. Legendary it was and for good reason - terrific food and hospitality in that warm little window seat of the Okanagan. The ALR is a good thing and is quite fiercely protected. That being said, there is a fair amount of 'non-arable' land within its boundaries that is swapped out. In urban centres such as Kelowna, that are constrained by the ALR, the issues become more complex. What is really destestable has been the massive, hideous sprawl down Highway 97. What is required is more densification - 'smart growth' - not less, to force people out of their cars and into mixed-use village clusters through the valley. You can see the beginnings of that in Pandosy Village and in the reviving downtown area - there remains much work to be done. I have seen Ogopogo recently as this past summer, when we cut the engine and just drifted down the lake. The pinot gris was ice cold, as I recall, the day hot and breezeless. He seemed less taciturn than Nessie, more of a frolic if you know what I mean. Finally, we had to go and I haven't seen him since.

I think it was the year 1999, Jamie, in Los Angeles, and at the Trader Joe's there, and we were both in line. Myself and a rather attractive older man. It was that time of the year that they had the little mini rose plants by the door. I remember this clearly because they didn't have my wine that day and I was in a hurry to get somewhere, but the rose plants attracted me. You (I mean this man) came up to me and asked me (I'm not sure why you chose me except at that time I kept my hair in a close low chignon and sported double breasted herringbone to work. ) and you asked me - what is Arugula? I was a bit taken aback because I don't talk to strangers like you talked to me. So I told you. You stayed in line with your purchase, so I assume you were happy with the answer. The truth is, I only knew because my sister has been dropping "arugula" into every food related conversation she can since - yes, the year 1995, I think. She is no granola type. She shops strictly at the hypermarkets. So even when Arugula was available in the mid-90s, there were some people near the turn of the century who still weren't sure what it was. My question was and is, I mean, relational radar screen through retrospective lens and all that, can we really count on Lam's 50/50 analysis of the salmon thing? ← Lucy, Uncanny. The miniature white rose plant that I brought home for the dinner party on Saturday (that Slake, the lowlife-infidel-rounder, curmudgeoned) is set against the window frame, sipping in the meagre north light above the lawn, which the gardeners and the rain have managed to style into some sort of Battle of the Somme reenactment. So that was you! Of course I knew perfectly well what arugula was when I approached you: slightly peppery, nubile and crisp. It may or may not have just a whisper of down like a woman's belly or a good Rhône. So I wasn't the least bit interested in your response, at least not the first one. It was, of course, the low chignon, and your interest in out-of-season miniature roses, that attracted me to ask the question. Do you remember your response? In response to your question, I can only add that I count on Lam for nothing, unless he's been butterflied, rolled, tied and braised at least seven hours.

Jack, Yes, what goes around . . . Except for the well-done steak, menus have gone pre-arugula, with the substitution of rieslings for the Blue Nun or screw-top Kressman's. Hey, even that's come back. At the dinner in Kelowna (upthread), where a number of wine-folks crowded the table, we discussed the Stelvin and its many options (including a new mouth-breather) at some length. The expectation is that Stelvin closures will be widely instituted for BC VQA wines over the next several vintages. That will save cost of production, of course, and virtually eliminate spoilage. During the conversation, I mused as to what my business would look like if, when I got up in the morning, I knew that 5% to 7% of everything I did would be dead wrong. "Call it a really good day," I said.

Questions, please. Knives and appetites whetted. Widows consoled. And all questions answered here. Fire them in . . . J.

They're good friends and members of Eva's book club. Michele is a clinical psychologist who specializes in dysfunctional (toasted?) adolescents; Dena is a financial communications director who retired last year, married this summer, and is expecting her first child in the new year. Eva and Michele are also wonderful figure skaters, so to speak - they get the big air. I'm delighted that you made the Cedar Jelly (et al) connection - great stuff! Cheers, Jamie

I began this thread last week by saying that Vancouver is an interesting culinary laboratory; the threads of its cuisine are still knitting themselves whole. Now that we're back in the city, and to keep you amused until my next report, I thought that a little historical perspective might be in order. Here then, a look back at Vancouver's early dining history. Living in the Garden of Eating (expurgated here), sheds a bit more light on the culinary collaboration between farmer, rancher, fisherman and chef. And this piece defines our local culinary epochs . . . ROCKET SCIENCE: THE ARUGULA PARADOX Expurgated from Ministry of Food Public Advocacy Bulletin: MOF/04-B4U-I812 Province of British Columbia The emerging science of food anthropology reveals more about us than we might care to know, writes F. Morris Chatters, recently appointed Associate Research Level II Assistant to the Associate Deputy Minister for Food. During the culinary Dark Ages—that time now universally known as the Pre-Arugula Epoch to food anthropologists—certain sinister dilemmas faced early food adventurers, foragers and risk-takers. Just one such dilemma: Whether it took more courage to eat the first oyster or the first dessert. Food anthropologists now pretty much agree that the oyster was the more daunting—it was typically harder to open and required specialized hardware such as a rock and a hard place. A rump group of contrarians, however, forcefully maintains that the mega-dessert known as “Death by Chocolate” (1978) was, by right of its very name alone probably equally frightening, especially if you’d just eaten a lot of oysters. But now much larger issues confront leading food anthropologists. Debate rages in university food departments, although locally, both University of BC and Simon Fraser University food professors have recently lost their faculties, mainly due to government cutbacks or unfortunate local wine pairings. That fierce debate is focused on the precise chronology of iconic food events, both Pre- and Post-Arugula, and even during the actual Arugula Epoch itself. The debate began at England’s University of Wessex (not incidentally, the British refer to arugula as “rocket”), fomented by the controversial food-denialist Dr. Ewan Auger in his seminal essay, A Brief History of Fennel. In a footnote to the essay, Auger categorically states that both rocket (that is, arugula) and restaurant patio heaters were invented in Great Britain. Not only did he get it badly wrong, but little did he know the trouble he would soon unleash the world over. To set the record straight, the Pre-Arugula period (1971-1978) is characterized by certain iconic benchmarks in time, such as, “Hi, my name’s Brad, and I’ll be your waiter tonight” (1972), salad bar sneeze-shields (1973), Kressman’s screw top wine in the handy one-litre format (1974), and the advent of pepper mills the size of outdoor chess pieces (1971-present day). Culinary historians now largely agree upon these dates. What remains more controversial, however, and what has yet to be settled by accurate carbon dating, was the introduction of uncomfortable hotel-banquet chairs and pink nylon napkins into high-end Chinese restaurants. Dr. Baugh Lam, dean of UBC’s Faculty of Food and Modern Living, says “We know now that the plastic grocery bags [that the pink napkins were recycled from] went into production in 1976. Unfortunately carbon dating has proven wildly inaccurate, though, likely because the bags themselves were recycled from leisure suits. And any hope for accurate DNA sampling appears a dead-end too – what little chop suey actually adhered to the napkins is either virtually untraceable or simply petrifying.” When we confronted Dr. Lam with the clear evidence of pink nylon napkins in a 1975 brochure touting the Double Ecstasy Fulfillment Gardens Restaurant in Richmond, he replied, “Well there you go—this is never easy and it’s far from being an exact science.” During the actual Arugula Epoch, which lasted a scant two decades beginning in late-1978, some issues have recently been clarified while others remain clouded by time. For instance, lengthy menu descriptions (1992-1998), noting the provenance of each ingredient, its organic growing methodology, its harvesting procedures and the maiden name of its mother arouse not a whit of controversy. What does raise a bone of contention though, especially amongst steakhouse anthropologists, is the advent of sautéed spinach (as opposed to the undeniably Pre-Arugula creamed spinach) as a side dish. “The 2001 fire at the head offices of Hy’s Steakhouses on Davie Street wiped out any definitive proof,” says Dr. Sybil Kronick of Simon Fraser University’s Department of Culinary Anthropology and Food Styling. “Although we’re quite sure it was 1995, I said more or less the same thing about the baba au rhum/apple crumble changeover date, and just look at how out to lunch I was there,” Dr. Kronick continued in her usual self-effacing way. “But we’re missing the real point here, anyway, because the whole missing link controversy is of much greater importance.” Dr. Kronick was, of course, referring to those dining items that positively link the epochs: Hy’s Seasoning Salt, supersized pepper mills, and bratwurst. “Hy’s Seasoning Salt clearly connects the dots,” Dr. Kronick said brazenly. “But if you want the real missing links, look to quality bratwurst, especially the ones that split when amateur grill-dads barbecue them. Because they definitely connect the epochs too,” she said. Dr. Kronick makes a strong case, and even her most out-spoken critics seem at least in tacit agreement on these points. “Now, you could argue that vertical presentation in general, and the addition of high-rise rosemary spears to roasted garlic mashed potatoes in particular, were important Arugula-era icons,” says chef Todd Ling of Vancouver’s renowned fusion house Beige Ling. “Equally, you could make the valid point that short, cryptic menu descriptions like ‘Recent Veal’ and ‘Regional Haggis’ are definitively post-Arugula. On the other hand, ‘Blackened Group’ is clearly Cajun and therefore pre-Arugula. But clearly, quality bratwurst—especially venison with minced prune — crosses all the boundaries.” And as for Hy’s Seasoning Salt, we asked? In response, Ling pulled a yellowed copy of the September, 1968 edition of Vancouver Life magazine from the cookbook shelf in his tiny office. He pointed to an advertisement for the legendary financial district hangout known as Hy’s Encore. Pictured in the ad is the restaurant’s founder, Hy Aisenstat, doctoring a fowl with Hy’s Seasoning Salt, a large peppermill and a lashing of cognac. The caption reads, “At Hy’s, no tern goes unstoned.” “Clearly Pre-Arugula,” Ling said, “but a technique still much in evidence today in finer steakhouses.” * * * “By-catch, sustainable, and fly-caught, zeez are the buzzwords for the Post-Arugula generation,” says devoutly heterosexual Kitsilano bistro proprietor Alphonse d’Aprés-Toi. For once he is referring to his ingredients and not his libido. “At Chez Alphonse we really concentrate on these things,” he says as he fondles the generous lobes of a nubile foie gras. “To be sure, bratwurst will always remain important,” he says, playing the French card, “but only ze way we make it here—browned off in ze quick sauté and zen napping in the sauce of low morels.” Meanwhile, University of British Columbia’s Dr. Lam and his colleaugues aren't so sure. “Blindfold some restaurant critics and then ask them to tell the difference between a wild, line-caught, quick-bled winter-spring salmon versus the traditional farmed product and I guarantee you that nine times out of ten they’ll be 50-50 or so,” Lam claims. Lam claims that he and his fellow academics are also seeing ample evidence of a new trend, called Retro Pre-Arugula, showing up on menus. “It’s sort of a guilty pleasure, but also a finger in the eye of your Arugula-obsessed parents,” Lam says. “Cut an iceberg lettuce—about the size of what Mayor Larry Campbell stuffs in his fedora—in half and slather a pint of Thousand Island dressing over it. Lighthouse brand is a superior product. Then my wife and I like to open a case of beer and turn out the lights.” Interestingly, however, "the distinctions between the three periods are most clearly evidenced when examining restaurant service, not food,” Dr. Lam said in italics for emphasis. It’s soon clear that Lam is referring to the notorious “Quality Check” question that has seemingly adapted to changing times. “Pre-Arugula,” Lam says, “Brad, your waiter, would stop by to interrupt your carefully rehearsed entreaties of seduction by asking ‘Is everything all right?’ But these days, his name is Ethan and he’ll ask ‘Is everything meeting or exceeding your taste expectations?’ This is much worse, of course, because it can make your date think she's buying into something much more than dinner.”

Vancouver Good morning, What do chefs and food writers eat on their night off? Aching for our bed last night, yet not wanting to let you down, back in Vancouver Eva and I plunged down the street to one of our favourite Japanese restaurants, The Octopus's Garden, located near the beach. It's a low pressure place with very good food and a sense of humour. When it comes to Japanese food there are a great many choices in these precincts - about 400 at last count, from izakaya kitchen food to very high-end rooms such as Tojo's. We had a very pleasant meal, seated at the counter, with the always amusing Sado San propositioning us with the day's catch. Seeing all that crab and albacore in Tofino made our choices straightforward though. I'll post the images and my usual diatribe in a few hours. Because right now I'm up early to get some work done, and also to prepare to shoot a promotional vid for the kick-off for Dine Out Vancouver. Dine Out has become a local phenomenon. Between January 20th and February 2nd, participating restaurants (a lot) offer special three course menus for $15, $25 and $35. By any standards it's very good value. It packs dining rooms - from casual boites to elegant restaurants such as West during the otherwise slower shoulder season between Christmas and Valentine's Day. The promotion, which is organized and implemented by Tourism Vancouver, makes life difficult for food critics. If I'm to write about regular menus during the fortnight, I'll have to journey to non-participating restaurants. The shoot is at Granville Island, Vancouver's central market, located in the middle of the city on False Creek. While there, I'll take a few shots of favourite shops, including The Stock Market, an interesting and well executed idea. Tonight (t'is the season) we're off to two downtown hotels. At the first, I'll take a look at 'passed food' during a reception. And at the second, the annual Christmas dinner for Eva's book club, we'll look in on a catered meal in festive surroundings. Back at you shortly, Jamie

Sharp eye, TFA! As much as hate to admit it, I actually purchased the Bibendum ashtray about a year ago during a lunchtime visit there with Mr. Andy Lynes. I have a collection of restaurant ephemera that's especially intense in Conran: Bluebird, Quaglino's, Le Pont de la Tour etc., about 10 quid a pop. In those cases, the souvenir was considerably more memorable than the meal. Here's a little more about my misbegotten adventures in London. I also have a picture of Peter Langan passed out under a table at his London brasserie in the 80s and framed matchbooks from J. Sheeky et al. The trophy piece from London though is the framed key fob from my old room at The Connaught Hotel, circa late 80s. Now that I think about it, the artfully contrived restaurant memorabilia here at Chez Jim is worth the price of admission alone. Perhaps during off-service hours (i.e. between noon and midnight, daily) we'll arrange for private tours, conducted (as that cold accretion known as Slake alluded) by our knowledgeable service staff. Sincerely, The Proprietor Chez Jim "Where Important People Come to Dine, and Then Leave"

Thank you for posting the recipe. Where did you end up sourcing your graham flour, I don't recognize that brand? ← Hello cayenne, After much searching, I found the graham flour at Capers on West Fourth Avenue, right under my nose. It was a good product and worked well in the recipe.

Thanks Pan. I can only assure you that making fun of myself (big target) requires little effort. And yes, I wish that Slake would make fun of himself. But at least my dangling modifier's more prominent.

Abra, thanks for your patience. Here's a good resource for Cedar Jelly and other unique Canadian condiments and ingredients of interest. Cedar Jelly has many applications: linament, slickin' the bobsled runners, limbering up a new pair of goalie pads, cooking salmon on a plank etc. And of course, when used for lovemaking in the Canadian style, the whole darn igloo smells like Christmas!

Tofino On Nature's Edge: Three Chefs, One Purpose For a small town, heavily dependent on seasonal tourist traffic, the quality of the cooking in Tofino is high and often intense. Thank the nearby larder, where food fairly leaps from the sea. First Nations' peoples found it too: the extraordinary art of the coastal indigenous tribes speaks to the wealth of the ocean and forests, and their extraordinary Potlatch rituals. Potlatch was a celebration that focussed on the gifting of objects and food, the latter in quantities so generous that some guests would become ill from over-eating. Near Tofino, the Nootka Nation feasted frequently. 'The Wick' features First Nations' carvings in its public areas. The restaurant market in Tofino is necessarily focussed on several different sectors: the high-end culinary tourist interested in local foods (and wines) well-prepared; the eco-tourist who might take a more exploratory and active interest in whale-watching, ocean kayaking or hiking; and the local, who wants to eat dinner. All budget levels are important to the survival of the culinary community, and there's lots of cross-over. There are the usual challenges associated with a resort community, especially the training and long-term retention of qualified staff. Second, ingredients not grown locally are expensive to ship north from the major hubs of Vancouver or the provincial capital, Victoria. Finally, there's a certain irony, (as Wickaninnish proprietor Charles McDiarmid took pains to point out) in the supply chain: a number of prime, local ingredients must suffer inspection or processing some distance away, only to be returned several days later, not always as appealing. But intrepid chefs, such as those I'll introduce you to in a minute, can define their locality and their provenance, at each budget level. The picture at the top of this page speaks to exactly that: this morning at Trilogy Seafoods in Tofino, chef Andrew Springett and I brought these bruisers (Dungeness crabs) back from the dock for a swift trip into his kitchen. SoBo But our story begins earlier, on Sunday afternoon. We wanted to revisit SoBo, a restaurant at the Botanical Gardens The restaurant, first served its fine fish tacos (halibut and salmon), pulled pork sandwiches and other casual food from a van. Last year the owners, Artie and Lisa Ahier, moved the main kitchen inside, still dispensing summer lunches from the van, but also serving an indoor evening dining room with a delightful terrace facing the gardens. Hmm . . . and I was taught it was men over 40 . . . Marrying a wine list rich in Artie's selection of local bottles, Lisa delivers very good kitchen food to locals and long distance visitors. Including delicious soups. Here, smoked salmon and surf clam chowder with roasted garlic and dill; shrimp, Veracruzan-style; and butternut squash soup with toasted seeds. The pulled pork sandwiches, with onion rings coated in cayenne and three different kinds of corn meal for more impactful crunch. The fish tacos were also as advertised, a piscine contest of salmon, halibut, avocado and salsa. By 3:30 the sun was already low. We walked the beach, and then, reluctantly, turned our backs on the rocks that looked like orcas in the sand. We returned to the Wickaninnish, and watched the colours of grey and blue slowly collude. Time to light the fire in our room, draw the bath, and watch the sky come black. The orca (killer whale) informs many oral histories and myths of the coastal First Nations peoples. As does the raven. The Wick features a lot of terrific wall art and rough garden sculptures; these massive doors bid warm welcome. Getting to The Pointe At The Pointe Restaurant (which does indeed sit on the north point of Chesterman Beach, just above the roar of surf), chef Andrew Springett has his line chefs prepped for a slower, off-season night. In the summer, he and his brigade will turn more than 120 seats indoors, 50 on the beach for a crab boil, and another 50 in the Salal private dining room. And then there's room service, decidedly popular for those seeking solace in the view, with their own crabs and a bottle. The dining tables sit under soaring, hand-adzed cedar beams, and huge Haida and Nootka sculptures. Chef Springett's resume numbers positions at Vancouver's Four Seasons and Metropolitan hotels, and Toronto's North 44. He also led Canada's Bocuse d'Or team in Lyon and was a gold medallist at the World Culinary Olympics. Great, as they say, those accolades, together with about five dollars, will get you a pint of beer. There are other indigenous items on display as well. Here, from the Lighthouse Brewing Co., their excellent local brews: Beacon IPA and Race Rocks Ale (aka The Cat in the Hat). A few imported ingredients, such as this torchon of Quebec foie gras, foie gras discs (with caramelized Okanagan pear) augmented Springett's winter pantry. We're here tonight not because he's one of the province's leading chefs, but because, at the age of 38, after two years here, Springett is also at the top of his local game. But I wanted to see something more. Could Springett pull off the grace-notes demanded by a Relais Chateaux property, while still doing justice to the rusticated beauty on the other side of the windows? Like the best designers, and despite the clamour of ingredients arguing to get onto the plate, he maturely understands complexity without complication, smooth lines, a nascent simplicity of purpose. For three of us, he served smaller portions of his nightly a la carte items, each a tour de force of nature, the nature just outside his door. Question answered. Tonight, he succeeded in understanding his ingredients and knowing just when to get out of their way. An amuse of smoky squid (not-pictured), was just kissed smoky by the grill and served with portabellas; this clove-spiced local duck breast (the pretty presentation already scuffed-up in my rush to taste it), accompanied by parsnip fondant, apricot-apple ginger compote and beans was autumn on the wing. There were several more courses served; the fire, in a central copper box, burned on. A collection of five chocolate desserts was served with this flight of ports - perhaps in celebration of the any old Port in a Storm Season. And so we slept the sleep of the dead: rosy-cheeked from our beach walk, bath and fire, a fine meal, pints, wine and Port. Pasticceria Conradi This morning chef Springett and I went on ingredient patrol. But first, of course, we had to eat. In the town of Tofino, his former executive pastry chef, Matthias Conradi, has recently opened a multi-tasking (it has to) pattiserie - pizzeria - trattoria. On Saturday afternoons he cooks the food of his native Bavaria: ham hocks and dumplings. But today he was making breakfasts and pastries, enough for all the village, it seemed. His pizzas, from this Woodstone oven, are market-directed: delicious and reasonably-priced. Gone Fishing A drive down to the town's working fishery harbour . . . On a sparkling morning. The day's call board at Trilogy Fish Co. These smoked albacore sides are easily one of my favourites - sliced with just a little crème fraiche and chive. In its unsmoked form, it's one of the plushest dominoes of sashimi extant, and unlike its bluefin cousin, sustainable. Although those crabs upthread will be a feast as well. By the way, they cost $5 a pound; $3.75 went to the fisherman. And so this little story of three chefs, and how they appeal to three disparate audiences draws to an end. All are thriving, if working - like most in the cooking trades - just a little too hard. Tomorrow comes early, and from all our friends in Tofino, and from Eva and me, we send you this Canadian Christmas angel - born of the rainforest and mighty North Pacific. Good Night.

Lamb sushi for you! Unfortunately (well, perhaps not), no photographic images exist of the finished lamb. Mr. King made sure of that, even patting down the servers as they left the restaurant just before breakfast on Sunday morning. Jamie

City Diner One Evening at Chez Jim Review by: E. Thurston Slake The years have not been kind to Jamie Maw. His celebrity chef status has been on hold while the receivers attempt to resolve the mile-long line-up of unpaid suppliers from his last fiasco, Kung Pow Phat Soy. Now, just months later, Maw has already re-entered the restaurant scene, seemingly with new backers if not new energy. Promising a novel concept quite separate from the Sino-Swedish fusion diner that was Kung Pow (itself a twist on the menu at the late, lamentable Beige Ling), Maw has launched yet again in the trendy Lower Kits neighbourhood of ForMiCa—Fourth Avenue between Milestone’s and Capers. The décor at Maw's new 'Chez Jim' reveals itself with an almost Trumpian vulgarity. Maw's new restaurant is littered with shelves of cookbooks and the arcana of culinary anthropology. What a shame he hasn't read any of them. But credit him one thing—cajones the size of Bratislava - some of those suppliers were mighty sore, and much poorer for the experience. “It’s a highly innovative concept,” Maw allowed in a recent interview, “food with humour.” “The suppliers from your recent string of disasters didn’t think them very amusing,” I said. “Humour is where you find it,” Maw replied. “And I’m sorry, truly sorry. But even though those restaurants failed, one thing stood out,” he said. “And what would that be?” I asked. “The funny food sold well, even in times of adversity, like when I was paying C.O.D. at the back door.” “Such as?” I asked. “Dishes like ‘Blackened Group,’ he said. “And ‘Regional Haggis.’ Sold out every night.” Could this bottle of Laughing Stock Vineyards spell the future for Chez Jim? My first visit to Chez Jim was in early December, just as office Christmas parties were in full swing in major restaurants across the town. But this restaurant, which is difficult to find, was nearly deserted save for several servers in Maw’s trademark décolletage-revealing tops and Lycra trousers. Maw's 'man' - Mr. King - guards the restaurant entrances against livid suppliers. The menu is a model of brevity, perhaps reflecting Maw’s painful relationship with ranchers, fish-brokers and farmers clear across the province. In fact there were only a few items on offer: The caviar was served with Burrowing Owl (aka ‘The Dirty Bird’) pinot gris ’04, and Chateau Jacquesson NV Champagne. It was the last one ounce pail of caviar in the house, though. Maw plans to replace it with a more sustainable product in the new year—salted herring roe. “They probably won’t even notice,” he commented under his breath. Get an eyeful: Maw's food photography -- in this case a pot of Russian caviar, his last -- is as unfocused as his cooking. Aunty’s Pasti Platter (an ugly twist on bridge club finger food) The antipasto platter at Chez Jim leaves little to chance, and at $95 it shouldn't. In fairness, the smoked trout mousse was better than average. Greens with bosc pear and pear vinaigrette (amusingly retro, I suppose) Greens and pear salad with pear vinaigrette was served in a surplus war canoe. Seven Hour Sacrificial Lamb The 'Seven Hour Sacrificial Lamb'. As we were to find out later, dinner service would take almost as long. Cheesier Than Mariah Carey Scalloped Potatoes Roasted Adolescents Brandi’s Tart Sommelier-Pianist Eva also wheeled out the dessert trolley, but the tart was clearly store-bought. The lamb, potatoes and “roasted adolescents” (actually roasted young carrots) were accompanied by that Barossa triple threat, Spinefex ’03. Although the sauce accompanying the lamb, which was trumped with crème fraiche, redeemed the wizened boneless leg, the effects of its lengthy, low temperature braise were all too clear. The potatoes were indeed a fitting tribute to Ms. Carey: cheesy to a fault, especially with the half-inch layer of emmenthal—the culinary equivalent of a very serious wardrobe malfunction or simple lack of judgement. We could hardly blame the excellent servers for the extended kitchen lags. Having arrived at Chez Jim on the dot of seven, we wouldn't see our entrees until well past nine. One explanation: The chef took frequent 'time-outs' for self-described 'Dutch Cleansers.' Miss Dena, one of the expert service staff, partially rescued the Home Ec 10-quality cooking. The service was the highlight of the evening, equally as stunning as the meal was exorable. Seemingly a collection of retired La Perla lingerie models, each server was fastidiously knowledgeable about the wine and food pairings and several recognized me. One said, “You can call me scrumptious or yummy in your little review, Mr. Slake, but don’t dare say that about chef Maw’s food. He doesn’t like those words.” Scullery maid Michele pearl dives after service. If she's looking for pearls of wisdom in the cooking though, she's looking in the wrong place. Fear not Michele and Dena. The food was neither scrumptious nor yummy. And good God, I swear that lemon tart was store-bought, from Pattiserie LeBeau if my antennae were on the money, and paired with limoncello? Why, I don’t find that funny at all. Chez Jim ForMiCa, Kitsilano Rating (out of 20) Service: 18.5 Décor: 11.5 Wine: 14 Food: 10 Overall: 11.5 Multiple-award winning culinary journalist E. Thurston Slake is the Senior Editor of Food and Modern Living for City Diner magazine. He can also be seen on City Diner Cooks! Saturday mornings on BZTV.

This afternoon (about 4pm PST), I look forward to sharing my review of the controversial new Chez Jim (it opened quietly in Kits this past weekend) with you. I'll forewarn you though: it's necessarily a very tough review. And this evening, I'll be posting the Tofino images and copy--including a lovely lunch at Sobo (fish tacos and pulled pork featured mightily) and last night's dinner at The Pointe Restaurant at the Wick, chef Andrew Springett presiding. Both of those went much better than the fiasco at Chez Jim.

Pete is alive and well and still fishing. Avidly in fact. With his children grown and gone, he's finding more opportunities to slip up the coast in pursuit of big salmon. Jamie

Abra, I'm finding the supplier for you, as well as that for some other seriously Canadian products. Jamie

What an interesting question, John. The short answer to your question is that we strive to be honest and straightforward. Occasionally we're entertaining as well, I hope. In my daylight career, which is in property investment and development, we operate under the precept of "Full, Plain and True Disclosure" i.e. that when we go to offer a partnership investment, that there is complete transparency in disclosing all of the analyses and findings of our own due diligence. I see no reason why that shouldn't apply to what I do at night. I find it alarming how cavalier how some so-called 'critics' or 'reviewers' are in dissing restaurants and their proprietors--they are businesses after all. I know full well that the financial sections of the very same newspapers would not allow their reporters the same editorial latitude, i.e. a two hour (often single) visit before eviscerating a company. Therefore I think it mandatory that all restaurants be evaluated on a template, within reasonable boundaries of equivalency and equality (i.e. on the 'grid' that I mentioned previously) but also in terms of present conditions, or, as we say, "what we know to be true today." That being said, I wouldn't give any one critic or reviewer too much heft (me especially), whether the review be good, bad or downright ugly. Rather, I think it's the commonwealth of opinion that eventually speaks to trading potential. Take Mistral, which recently opened to largely favourable reviews versus Watermark, which didn't. The former is booked to capacity almost every night, the latter is not. Although they are vastly different both in terms of scale and style, one speaks from the heart. Fortunately, I think, the critical mass of critical opinion recognized the differences early on, and directed readers accordingly. Cheers, Jamie

Coming back at you in a few hours with a trove of copy and images from Tofino, plus a review of Chez Jim, the controversial new restaurant in Vancouver's West Side neighbourhood of Kitsilano. Jamie

Off to dinner. Here is a little teaser...will report in in the morning.

We are at YVR waiting for the fog to lift so that we can fly to Tofino. In the meantime, here's an image of our destination. The Wickaninnish Inn on Chesterman Beach, Tofino, BC Arrived safe and sound in a little Navaho twin-engine and flew right over the resort on our way in. Off to eat - lunch for a change!

I cook quite a bit, including last night, Abra. Later today I'll post some photos about what we served.

While we're flying over to Tofino, here's a little something to set the mood . . . Big Pete’s Salmon When we were young, my brothers and me, we passed our summers on Pasley Island in Howe Sound, about an hour northwest of Vancouver. We thought about fish a great deal. In the mornings we harvested Dungeness crabs and sold them to our neighbours for 25 cents, five for a dollar. In those days, the 1960s, we’d strain to haul the traps over the gunwale of our Davidson dinghy—most days big males would even cling to the outside of the trap for their brief excursion to the pot. We were humanitarian crabbers. Once back to the dock we would rip off the crab shells, back to front, then split the bodies in half just before boiling—the “no screams” method. Actually, it was an economic decision; ice was at a premium, reserved for our parents’ gin and tonics, and whole crabs claimed too much space in our coolers. We recycled the crab shells over the side of the float, the shiners and pile perch that lived there fattened up on crab guts, just in time to volunteer for bait duty. In the afternoons we would head back out—my big brother Pete and me, this time with our fishing rods and Lucky Louie lures—completely confident that we’d come back with dinner. Mum might even give us a specification: “The Wallaces are coming and they eat like horses. How about a spring or coho around ten pounds? I’ll make egg sauce.” This was more a matter-of-fact statement than a question. “We’re going fishing, Mum, not grocery shopping,” Pete would say. The only thing left unasked was whether we could possibly catch a dozen eggs for the sauce too. * * * Pete and I would take a run down the long side of Whorlcombe Island, on the lee side if the westerly was up, our lines down just inside the tidal rip, then a slow troll back up against the flooding tide. It was the best part of the day, lazy, with the flashers down 30 pulls we would cut the engine back and just take it in, Shasta sodas in hand. The gulls and eagles would be riding off the heat of the islands, wings motionless, searching the tidelines too, watching us watching them. We were the thin, tanned boys of summer, and if you didn’t count swimming in the ocean every day, we didn’t have a proper bath in two months. We messed about in boats constantly: sailing, fixing engines, considering the angle of the sea to the hull, clearing fouled props, exploring. If we had drowned in a storm those summers, heaven would have seemed a letdown. I can’t remember an evening when we let Mum down, at least until the spectre of girls raised its lovely head. In an absolute pinch, if the wind was blowing, we could always cast for ling cod off the point. They are the least mentioned of coastal fish and delicious eating; we loved the alchemy of watching a ling’s flesh turn from transparent green to opalescent white over the embers. Gutting a fish quickly and quietly with a freshly whetted knife is a rite of passage for a boy, like docking a boat smoothly, or hatcheting cedar rounds into even splits of kindling, or predicting the weather accurately. Cooking a fish quickly and quietly over an open fire gave us pleasure too: we had caught it, cleaned it and made it taste good. And few enjoy fish as much as those who have been on the sea all day, messing about in boats. So smaller salmon would naturally find their way outside to the fire. Pete and I would split the fish to the backbone, oil the skin, slather Best Foods’ mayonnaise—cut with the juice of a lemon—on the flesh, and crack some pepper over it. Because we weren’t going to turn it, salmon grilled this way wants a slow fire and a lid of foil so that the cooking is equal parts grilling and roasting. The mayonnaise sealed the flesh and caught the wood smoke. Bigger springs would be filleted, marinated and grilled (see the recipe below), but the trophy fish, anything over ten pounds or so, and some as much as thirty, found their way into Mum’s wood-burning oven to be baked. The method never varied: a slather of mayonnaise in the cavity, a tip-to-tail course of sliced lemons and wild dill or fennel tops, then all neatly sealed in foil. An hour later she would take it to the platter just warm, place it on a bed of salal and surround it with new potatoes and fresh carrots and peas from the garden. The vegetables would be plated first. Then time seemed to slow as the salmon was brought to table, its skin peeled back and requests fired in from around the table, “gill, middle, tail!” And like all of life’s profound mysteries, working with an oven that was always either too hot or not enough, Mum’s spring salmon—just cooked through—would be as moist as the sea. But here is the raison d’être for all big fish, that they should aspire to this glorious end. Mum would bring the tureen over from the sideboard, stir it with the ladle, and tease us: “Would anyone care for egg sauce?” she would ask. And so we marked the time of summers, until in late August the setting sun, moving farther south each night, would finally set between the two Popham islands—it might light a boil of late-run herring through the narrow passage—and the cooling nights reminded us of that school was near. None of us dared mention it because certain miseries are best left unsaid. And because boys who mess about in boats all day should know no time, no time at all: Just the smell of the ocean, the cut of the wind, the angle of their hull as it takes the sea, and that the only thing that can hurt them here is themselves. * * * Big Pete’s Salmon 12-14 portions Astound your friends and family with amazing pyrotechnics in the privacy of your own home. I like the delicacy of baked or poached salmon (ballontine), but at summer cottages and on boats, sometimes the grill just screams out for action. You might find the collision of ingredients here looks more like a train wreck than delicious—you'll just have to trust us, and the thousands served. 1. Secure whole-fish fillets from a fresh, firm-fleshed wild six- to seven-pound spring or sockeye salmon from a reliable fishmonger. Have the fillets cut in front of you and have them wrapped flesh to flesh with waxed paper in between. Do not allow the fillets to be folded while they’re being wrapped. 2. Place the fillets on a flat surface. Run your fingers from tail to gill to make the pin bones surface and with your wife’s best eyebrow tweezers pluck the wee blighters carefully so as not to disturb the flesh. 3. With a very sharp knife trim the fillets removing the bottom half inch of belly meat and any fin joints. 4. Cut the fillets into serving portions on the bias in line with the angle of the gill. You’ll get about six to seven portions per side. 5. Prepare a marinade by placing the following ingredients in a food processor fitted with a steel blade and pulse until the mixture is thoroughly emulsified: 1 ¼ cups vegetable oil 1/3 cup good soy sauce 2 oz. rye or Scotch whiskey 3 garlic cloves 2 Tbsp demerara sugar 2 scallions In a non-aluminum pan, shallow pan, douse the salmon pieces in ¾ of the marinade, letting them rest flesh side down. Reserve the balance of the marinade. Cover pan with plastic wrap and refrigerate for two to three hours. 6. A half hour before firing the grill, remove salmon from fridge to a cool place. 7. Grill salmon skin side down over a medium hot fire for four to five minutes. Using a sharp steel spatula and chef’s tongs, turn for two minutes. The skin will remove easily and can be cooked further, then diced for a crcckly topping later. Splash a little of the reserved marinade over the finished fish. 8. Feign modesty as guests heap praise. But remember cardinal rule: Practice on family before friends, friends before clients. 9. Reserve at least two prime pieces for sandwiches the next day. You will need only salmon, pepper, mayonnaise and crusty bread. 10. Keep a friend by rinsing your mate’s eyebrow tweezers thoroughly. 11. Serve with buttered new potatoes, roasted young carrots, corn and a crisp salad. This marinade works well for snapper, halibut etc. with the addition of ginger and more scallions.