jamiemaw

Thank you. But then you know my love for all things Spanish. And Mexican, where it’s Turtle Oil of Olé, I believe.

I'm sure that you all realize by now that the real reason I posted this topic was to figure out how old you are.

Santos--too many stairs for the waiters groaning under those big trays. La Brochette--the most beautiful dining room (with the possible exception of Il Palazzo) in Vancouver, ever. Both designed by Umberto in part. And if you couldn't get lucky after forking out the big bucks for table one in front of the rottisserie at La Brochette--well, it was probably time to examine the priesthood as a career option. Unfortunately, the lease ran out and so did the operators--although I've seen Pierre here and there, but no sign of Dag. Air Affair--where affairs did indeed take flight. Then Bud Kanke converted it to Viva! with a smaller dining room for desserts and liquers, so as to turn the main room faster. Viva! though, was also a brand of toilet roll and a small, highly undependable car. The restaurant's patrons were just as undependable. It did, however, pioneer a lot of neat food, and if I could lay my hands on the menu I thought was here I'd tell you more about it. Ondine's--pretty nifty seafood for its time. But the La Cantina I was referring to was Umberto's little seafood restaurant beside the 'Yellow House' on Hornby; Ken Bogas was there for a while.

And thanks for your memories, Shelora--an outstanding post.

I don't remember the food being all that great at Expo. I agree completely with your point about it bringing expansion. Just think what 2010 holds for us. I didn't mean that the food at Expo was great, but more that it seemed to me that a lot of restaurants started/expanded in response to the expected crowds. Maybe I was just becoming more aware of what was already present. ← In addition to initiating the redevelopment of Yaletown, painfully slow at first, and general expansion of the industry, in hindsight I view Expo as a catalyst for chefs and farmers. Perhaps the reason was that the provincial and national pavilions were forced to provide something determinedly indigenous to their place of origin. And it soon became competitive between the Commissioners General and their chefs. A poor luncheon in front of a sophisticated international crowd proved just the impetus for many to research locality. The Saskatchewan Pavilion provided the most memorable lunches, and I like to think that we did a pretty good job at the Canadian Pavilion as well. Expo also launched an interest in sushi to a more general denominator. But its downside, as we would see in the forthcoming decade, was a culinary trainwreck called fusion, with many of the 'creations' of (especially younger) chefs looking much like failed Grade 8 Home Ec experiments. As it turned out, it was just one of those adolescent phases that even the best families have to weather.

OK folks, I'm adding your entries into the master list of the deceased, but any stories to tell?

GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN Because an adjacent thread was veering slightly off topic, and because it seems we all have so many restaurant memories to share, here's a modest list to begin with. I hope that it helps prompt you to share yours . . . . and please feel free to add to the list . . . but let's hear your stories. Adega, Air Affair, Armando’s, Angelica’s, The Attic Barabara-jo’s, The Bayside Room, The Beachcomber, Berardo’s Big Frank’s Steakhouse, The Breadline, Boswell’s, Brother Jon’s Cafe Splash, Carmen’s, Casa d’Italia, The Cavalier Grill, The Cave, Chanterelles, Chardonnay’s, Charlie Brown’s, Cheyna, Cheerystone Cove, Chez Daniel, Chez Joel, Chez Luba, Chez Victor Das Rheingold, Dean’s, The Devonshire Seafood House, Dufour & Co., Dine In The Sky (Sylvia Hotel) El Parador, Emilio’s, Empress de Chine, English Bay Cafe, Eye Scream Fado, Fatzo's, Francesco Alonghi, Frank Baker’s, Frisby’s Railcar Restaurant The Frog and Peach The Gillnetter, Gizella’s, The Greenhaus, Guppy’s Harry C’s, The Hungry Pilgrim, Hy’s at the Sands, Hy’s mansion Iaci’s Casa Capri, Il Barino, Il Palazzo, Isadora's, Isy’s Jackie’s, Jacques Spratt’s, Jean-Claude, Joe Kapp’s, Johann Strauss, JuJu Kafana Bosna, Ken Wong Village, Kon Tiki, Kozmas, Kuzmas La Brasserie d’Horloge, La Brochette, La Cachette, La Cantina, La Columbe, La Cote d’Azur, Lady Alexandra Floating Restaurant, la creperie, Le Cous Cous, La Raclette, La Tour Eiffel, Leo’s Steakhouse, Le menu, Le Petit Montmartre, Le Napoleon, Le Pavilion, L’Escargot, Little Budapest, L’Orangerie, The Longhouse The Medieval Inn, The Marco polo, The Meatmarket, Momiji, Monty’s seafood House, Mother Tucker’s, McQ’s, Muck a Muck, Mulvaney’s The Noodle Makers, Oil Can Harry’s, The Old Roller Rink, Onassis, The On On, Orestes, The Organ Grinder, 999 Station Street, Ondine’s, Oscar’s Steakhouse Papillotte, Peter’s The Quarry House Raku Saltimbocca, Santa Fe Cafe, The Sea Garden, Sir Edgar’s Dining Lounge, Sir Walter Raleigh, Someplace Else Taka, Teany’s, Tiffany’s, The Timber Club, Top of the M.A.R.C., Top of the Towers, The Trestle, Toulouse Lautrec, Tokay, Three Greenhorns, Tommy Africa's, Tommy O's, Trader Vic’s, Truffles, The Tug 12 Caesars, Victoria Station, Vie’s Steakhouse, Viva! Zinfandel’s

Stumped, Shelora. Shame on me. What era? Any from Victoria that you'd like to mention? One of my favourite haunts used to be The Library Bar (not the Bengal Room) at The Empress. I think it's a gift shop now; when I drank there it was merely a gift. J.

According to the article, seems the erection of the organ was being managed by a couple of nuts.

I call apocryphal!! ← Yes, Deborah, Francis Ford Coppola was filming it at exactly that time. And we just loved the smell of steak over napalm.

They served deep dish Chicago-style pizzas and it was indeed called The Organ Grinder, possibly the most unfortunate name in the history of Vancouver restaurants. More appropriate nomenclature for No. 5 Orange perhaps. Well, not quite the worst name, at least for one night in the West End when the old Black Angus on Davie street experienced a huge downturn in their walk-in business on what should have been a busy Friday. Finally, at the prompting of a regular, the manager took a look outside at their neon sign. Turns out the "G" on the sign had burnt out.

In the late 60’s and early 70’s, Chez Victor was the place to go for weekend crepes and occasionally dinner if he was in the mood. Victor turned the jazz up loud, made pressé coffee au lait, and was essentially the Crêpes Nazi: if he didn’t like the look of you—you were sent packing immediately. He kept very irregular hours, did his shopping the day of in Chinatown and was, for many years, the epitome of cool downtown. It was if you had stepped in off a pavement in Montmartres rather than Seymour Street. His cassoulets were legendary, but mainly we went for the savoury lunchtime crêpes. Je t’aime, as one of the chantresses of the day proclaimed, and for many of us who backpacked Europe each summer, it was a place to smoke Gauloises, drink bagged plonk and pretend we were something, for a few hours at least, that we were decidedly not. You will no doubt be relieved to know that my fellow travellers and I resisted the urge to don berets. Kafana Bosna was an inconveniently located restaurant in an industrial building only accessible via a long external staircase near the Hastings flyover, half a dozen blocks or so east of Main Street. It was a favourite place to aim for after cutting classes on a Friday afternoon, and pull a double shift, usually exiting well after midnight. Because the proprietors were emancipated Europeans, in other words, they let us drink from their short wine list or, more usually before a Saturday rugby game, drink beer. The menu included the entire goulash archipelago and very sweet baklava for dessert. I also seem to recall veal soup and various bureks and chevaps. But we really went there because, like Chez Victor it was cool, way inside and filled with hard drinking folks (many of whom at five o’clock shadows by lunchtime) who sang later of lament and no small joy. It was also a rather elegant place, with crisp linens and decent glassware, but with nowhere near the prices of a west side restaurant, nor the opportunity to bump into a parental friend. The real reason that we frequented these places, though, as good as the food and as evocative as the atmosphere were, was rather more simple: To impress girls. It was just the thing to do, and hopefully, as I’ve no doubt said before, afterward Suzanne might even take me home, to her place by the river.

Didn't Lee Poulos also open a restaurant in Gastown called The BreadLine or something similar. It was kitty corner to the Steam Clock. I worked in Gastown for five years in the mid 80s and think I've eaten at every place it was possible to eat at in the area during that time. ← To say nothing of the Medieval Inn, where wenches served overdone roast beef knightly.

Stop! You're both right! There was a Green Door and it begat an Orange Door. Both coolly hard to find off exotic Chinatown alleys, primitive and dirt cheap. I remember (if also shrouded in the mists of time) that years ago, an article that Angie Murrills and I wrote about regional cuisine was actually called "Beyond The Green Door".

Thanks John. By the way, my list is no means conclusive, but rather was designed to inspire a dogpile of remiscencent posts just like yours! Pile 'em on.

“Harry’s Nightspot was a cult place. It was located across from the 7-Up plant at Kingsway and Schoolhouse Road. There was no sign, a bare bulb over the door, and inside just a griddle and a counter. It was open late—until 2 or 3 AM. Harry was a surly old circus carny, propped in a wheelchair. He happened to make the best hamburger in town. But he billed it as a ‘chopped sirloin sandwich’ and you didn’t want to cross him on that or anything else. He chopped the sirloin himself. Order the ‘combo’ and he’d add a wiener. Now Harry was a very unhealthy looking guy. One night just past closing a punk with a knife held him up. Harry reared out of his chair, hauled the guy over the counter and griddled his face.” —Denny Boyd, 1996.

Way cool in the 70s High end arrivals: La Cote d’Azur, Chez Joel, Three Greenhorns, Le Napoleon, La Brochette. Herb Capozzi, Harry Moll and Pat McLeery open Charlie Brown’s as a place for “fun seekers.” MOR: Victoria Station. Budget: Wooden Plate dinner for two at the Little Budapest, $4.50; Chicken crepes at la creperie $1.65; Mr. Rupe’s Pizza. Cult favourites: Kafana Bosna, Chez Victor. Best sound-bite: Ste. Michelle Medieval Red ($2.90) and Calona Sommet Rouge ($1.85) beat Mouton Cadet in early taste-off convened by Anthony von Mandl, who went on to build a $37 million chateau at his vineyard, Mission Hill. Wedding Gift: Avocado green crock pot. Don’t try: to impress your date with a bottle of Andrés Still Rose.

The Dinner Roll A highly subjective list of some of the most influential of the past 100 years Alltime Coolest—Chez Victor, Kafana Bosna. Most Beautiful—La Brochette, Fado, Il Palazzo, the garden at Il Giardino. Seafood—The Café, The Only, Monty’s, The Devonshire Seafood House, The Cannery, Sun Sui Wah, Phnom Penh, C Proprietors—Nat Bailey, Erwin Doebeli, Jean-Claude Ramond, George Tidball, Umberto Menghi, The Aisenstat family, Bud Kanke, Janice Lotzkar, John Bishop, Brent Davies, Sinclair Philip, Ruy Paes-Braga, The Fuller family, Jack Evrensel. Chefs—Xavier Hetzman, Michele Clavelin, Kerry Sear, John Bishop, Bernard Casavant, Michael Noble, Mark Potovsky, Tojo, Julio Gonzales-Perini, Pino Posteraro, Rob Feenie, David Hawksworth. French—la creperie, La Brochette, Le Pavilion, Chez Joel, Le Napoleon, L’Escargot, Le Crocodile, Lumiere Chinese—On On, The Only, The Ho Inn, Sun Sui Wah, Grand King. Italian—Puccini’s, Teany's, Peppi’s, Umberto’s, Il Barino, Villa de Lupo, Piccolo Mondo Regional—Three Greenhorns, La Cachette, The Four Seasons, Bishop’s, The Raintree, Sooke Harbour House, Chateau Whistler, The Pointe at The Wickaninnish Inn. Bars—The Panorama Roof, Harry C’s, Charlie Brown’s, Orestes, The Bayside Room, Trader Vic’s, Gerard’s, Bacchus.

True story, and what a undersung restaurant it is--found especially in the value- laden lunches.

Welcome Feedbag. Indeed the pleasure of a Caesar salad prepared tableside at Hy’s Encore has as much to do with its deeply pungent flavour and the spines of cold, crisp romaine as it does with the chance to deliberate in its preparation (extra anchovies, please) with a waiter (never server here) of tenure and gracious professionalism. Combined with a foil packet of cheese toast, the salad is basely sexual, and foreplay to the savagery of what lies just ahead.

Tapioca pudding. And Technicolor junket.

This really ties into what Anthony brought forward earlier, Keith: the now unconcious acceptance of merged cuisines (post the 'sushi breakthrough') that show up even in White Guy dining rooms. That being said I haven't tried to eat prime rib with chopsticks, but then, as your story suggests, maybe that's no longer necessary. As to the larger side of the story, I see the improvements being made in our restaurant cuisine and wine continuously accelerating. And the conjunction of rapidly deepening culinary tourism and the impending Olympics suggest that the upward curve of outside interest will parallel that of improvement. Across the board, so to speak. Jamie

I remember that term being used in the run-up to Expo, Deborah, in all the soul-searching articles that asked if we were worthy. It is Trumpian in its vulgarity of course, and exposes an insecurity as deep as that of a pimply-faced teen at the prom. But being Canadian, validation of the quality of our culinary culture would arrive from elsewhere. One very recent example was what happened last night--the city wide pride taken here and on the cover of the province's largest newspaper about Rob Feenie's victory. While I doubt very much that the story would have made the front page of The Philadelphia Inquirer if Morimoto had won, certainly it befalls us, as a smaller centre, to take some pride in a local hero. Without that requirement for external validation, I daresay that Pamela Anderson would be a lifeguard at Kits Beach. We have moved on.

I think that the breakthrough occurred in the 90’s, Keith. The 1890’s that is. But it would be almost a century before we would find our roots again. It is a modern conceit to think that good food—in profusion and diversity—is a recent invention in Vancouver. Look back 110 years to Christmas dinner, 1889, when the Leland Hotel served up a long menu comprising mainly local ingredients. The highlights from a bending board: “Oyster and Clear Ox Tail Soups; Gollops of Salmon, Sauce Epicereau; No. 1 Mackerel; Stewed Duckling with Green Peas; Boned Turkey with Oysters; Haunch of Venison, Red Currant Jelly; Sucking Pig, Apple Sauce; Lobster Salad.” Almost 20 desserts followed, including “Cocoanut Pie”, not seen again until 1958, and then only in the frozen food section. The wine list was legion—on offer were Champagnes, superior clarets and first growth Burgundies, ales local and long distance, and a selection of fino sherries and Sauternes. All of the wines were made available by the glass. Looking back, the menus look much less anachronistic—crowded as they were with fresh, local ingredients cooked in season—than the heavy Victorian fashion of the people who were eating from them. A century ago, Vancouver was peppered with oyster bars, Chinese restaurants, a vegetarian café or two, and many fine eating and drinking rooms. At The Café on Cordova Street, oysters were offered 14 ways: on ice with mignonette, under cheese, chopped spinach or cress, or lying in sin with freshly whipped hollandaise sauce. The drinkingman’s favourite—an iron pan of angels on horseback—were local oysters wrapped in a saddle of streaky bacon with a dot of Colman’s hot mustard. They would be dispatched with a cool pint of Stanley Park Brewery’s nutty-sweet pale ale. At the nearby Mizony’s Restaurant, oysters came in just eight variations, but also featured were “Brains in every Style.” At the Hotel Vancouver, customers could take their oysters with a selection from seven Champagnes, perhaps Veuve Clicqout, $4 a bottle, iced. The abundance of fowl and game and strong drink appalled a certain group of diners. Vegetarianism, spurred by moral and dietetic concern, was a growing international phenomenon. By 1907, the Pure Food Vegetarian Café on Hastings Street was quoting Plutarch on the cover of its menu, “Does it not shame you to mingle blood and murder with nature’s beneficient fruits? Other carnivores you call savage. . .and yet for them murder is the only means of sustenance, whereas to you it is a superfluous luxury and crime.” The menu is a trove of Edwardian emancipation: the inside cover lists dietetic suggestions, and preaches “good” combinations centred around grains and the avoidance of sugar. A directory of other like-minded vegetarian restaurants in Canada and the U.S. is also featured. The 35 cent dinner featured celery soup, peanut sausage, bayo beans, stewed prunes and tea. Breakfast promised gluten omelets and granose biscuits, lunch, nut butter, protose or date sandwiches. The second breakthrough wouldn’t occur for nearly a century, when Vancouver chefs, in anticipating Expo 86 would revisit our local larder and harmonize imported technique with indigenous ingredients. In between would fall 90 odd years of draconian liquor legislation, convenience foods and imperious foreign chefs. Welcome home.

Thank you for these fascinating insights and cooking. The larder of ingredients is extraordinary in its profusion and diversity, but are there any things you're missing, either from the States or your lengthy sojourn in Australia? Looking forward to some restaurant meals too--once your husband is on the mend. I don't know if the Fairmont Dubai is on your itinerary, but FYI a very talented young Canadian chef named Scott Baechler is cooking there, likely at the Spectrum on One restaurant or The Exchange Grill. He was formerly executive chef at The Metropolitan Hotel here in Vancouver and oversaw its signature restaurant called Diva at the Met. He was well known for his use of local ingredients here and it would be interesting to see what he has found in translation. Thanks again for your wonderful journal, Jamie