Peter Green
-
Posts
1,999 -
Joined
-
Last visited
Content Type
Profiles
Forums
Store
Help Articles
Posts posted by Peter Green
-
-
Thailand for Valentine’s Week
Taking the middle path of excess
Part 1 – Fly Me To The Moon (or at least as far as Souvarnabhoumi)
It’s been a difficult year so far. The markets are down, Thailand still suffers from the airport closure, and gloom is in the air.
In such times, you can either bow under the weight of fate, or rise up to adversity and challenge it to lay you low.
Stirring stuff, eh?
Really, I just felt that Yoonhi and I just needed a romantic getaway. I’d been away on my own for too long in December, and then the rush and frenzy of Christmas, the departure of some of our friends in Bahrain for Jo’burg, and New Year’s had had us on the go 24/7. There’d been little quiet time for the two of us.
So, why not stretch Valentine’s out a bit?
It was a good…heck, it was an auspicious start, with Gulf Air bumping us up. Yoonhi was quite happy with this, settling into her seat, tucking into some almonds and champagne, and checking up on the child (who has school).
Like I said, an auspicious start.
Souvarnabhumi’s domestic terminal lacks much of the choice of the international. And Thai Air wasn’t as gracious in recognizing our inherent worth. This meant that we were consigned to the food court, with it’s abusively priced beers ($7 for a Singha?!). But, this wasn’t a budget trip, and we’d done well on the opening leg. And the food court does have noodles, and noodles are a good first meal.
We went for the bbq’d duck. For Yoonhi, this was a straightforward matter.
On my part, I couldn’t resist adding in some chili and vinegar, and some more chili powder.
It’s best to get back into training for spices as soon as you can on these trip.
Plus, I could now knock mosquitoes out of the air with my breath (or at least it felt that way).
I failed to take a picture of the in-flight snack. It’s only an hour and change to get to Chiang Rai, so there’s not much. A plastic cup of water, and a bit of cake. I let it rest in peace in the box, saving my appetite for what was to come.
(note: edited as I remembered I had more photos in the camcorder)
-
You know you're an eGulleter when.....
You try to post something in less time than it took to experience it.....
(I'm not there yet...
) -
With the opening of the original Guu on Thurlow in the mid-1990s, Vancouver got its first taste of izakaya (居酒屋), or Japanese-style pubs. Since then they've proliferated - so much so that Gourmet magazine just profiled 8 Vancouver izakaya as part of their "Eight Great" regional specialty series.
Here's their list:
1. Guu Otokomae
2. Toratatsu
3. Hapa Izakaya
4. Kingyo
5. Ping's Cafe
6. Yuji's Tapas
8. Zakkushi
My quibbles - I would pick the Kitanoya Guu on Thurlow over the Gastown location, especially since it's the original. I'm not sure how they managed to leave out Gyoza King, since it's pretty much the standard for izakaya in town. Maybe it's not fancy enough for their liking? And though Zakkushi is great, it's not an izakaya, it's a kushiya.
Vancouver magazine also wrote up a number of izakaya in their December issue. They include more recent openings like Kakurenbou, Nan Chuu, and Shuraku.
I hit the only one without a link...Kingyo. I must say, it did feel like Tokyo.
Or was that Oosaka?......
-
I’m almost done with Malaysia—just one more dinner, and it was the best one!
Take your time...... Give it a lot of careful thought....no need to rush these things!
Brunch at the Four Seasons again this morning. I'll be back to normal online connections soon.
-
What? No scallop for you?
For her main, my mother had Pan Seared Hokkaido Scallop with Civet of Crayfish. I don’t know how it tasted, because despite my hints (“Wow! Look at that scallop! I wonder what it tastes like!”) I did not get even a smidgen of it. I think that meant she really enjoyed it, because otherwise she would have shared some of it (my mother usually shares her food unless it’s something she really really likes).
With my family members, I usually yell "Look, it's Elvis" and then make a grab while they're rubbernecking.
-
Now I almost want to go to a KFC!
(Rona streaks into the lead....Peter is hampered by limited internet availability
) -
No farewell pictures of the kitties?
I love that picture of Scud. It just screams, "Welcome to my lair. bwaa ha ha ha ha." (that was my evil laugh, in case you couldn't tell)
After 4 months without a barber, it probably should've been "Welcome to my hair."
I'll have to look for another shot of the furballs for you, Rona.
-
I've placed the Netherlands stopover here.
-
Ah, I feel better now. I managed to finish Leiden before Rona has done either Malaysia or Cambodia.
-
December 13 – Leiden – A Brief, Intense Bit of Joy
I admit, freely, that I am not a great fan of Amsterdam. I’ve spent a certain amount of time there, but it’s not a city that’s grown on me.
But I’ve come to quite enjoy visiting Leiden, which is equidistant on the train system from Schiphol.
A big part of that, though, is that I can visit with my friends there, Rich and Ellen, and recover from the trials of transatlantic travel with a brief idyll.
Plus, I get their kitchen.
They always have the most fun houses. As Ellen says, she’s a global nomad, and where ever she pitches her tent, it’s like the caravan has arrived.
And, for these last few years, it’s been Leiden.
We arrived, and took over the guest rooms in the back house. And then I settled down to my dream of cooking in the kitchen.
It’s like working on a set. The ceilings go up forevere, and everything looks and smells good. The produce that Rich has laid in for me is beautiful;
fresh oysters and mussels;
duck breast that looks like it was carved off of Arnold Schwarzenneger; olive oil from their friends farm in Tuscany; and lots and lots of cheese.
there was a heavy cheese, loaded with (I think) caraway seeds,
and then there was a soft white cheese that we cut away in slabs and then clumps.
And wonderful baguettes to work with.
Although the idea of wine loomed large in my mind, I held myself to beer. Of course, the fact that I’d not heard of Hertog Jan before made this an easy decision (a nice beer, indeed).
Of course, this only to keep us sated until dinner.
Meanwhile we talked. While I’d seen Ellen a year or two ago, I’d missed Rich, as he’d been away on work. And of the boys, they were away on treks and the like. But this trip had all of them together, and it was a joy to hear of growing up in the Netherlands, of shopping in Leiden (which I wish I had the time to do with them), and of the common business we pursue.
I’d shorted myself on mussels this trip, with only the stops in London and the one order at Jules in Vancouver, so the prospect of a bowl of mussels, done up with fresh garlic, a bit of ginger, fresh tomatoes, fresh herbs, and some pepper sauce….well, you can imagine what I was like.
And so, we had a simple meal of mussels, oysters, and a wheat noodle, with a very nice sauvignon blanc and one or two other bottles of wine.
And then, the great happiness, to wake up and do it again.
The light of midmorning broke through the window, and we three adults set to work as the children slept.
We had some berries that I started to work down in a sauce, while I slowly braised the duck breasts.
On the side, Ellen had some leeks, and I did these in butter while adding some in to the mussels we couldn’t fit in the pot the night before.
While Rich dissected the bird, we settled some mushrooms in the sauce, and hit it up with a bit of cognac.
And, with good bread and wine, and a mass of poorly cooked food, we were set for breakfast.
We talked, we laughed, and we enjoyed that friendship that you make on the expatriate circle. We’ve been together as children are born, and as friends have passed. When separated, it takes but moments to come back together.
And then, I had one of those moments. Like when you’re lying in a field, and the wildflowers and the sky and the birds are just right.
Someone walked up to the window of our house and took a picture.
I’ve done that. I’ve been the one who would walk past houses and see people just enjoying themselves, and I would slip a picture to capture that moment from the outside.
Payback is fair.
And then we left.
-
Peter! Where are you off to next?
It's Valentine's Day, and I need to do something for Yoonhi.
So, I'm taking her somewhere nice, with roses and elephants.
-
December 12 – One Last Thing
If there is one memory, one find, one thing that will stay with me when my body is rotting in the grave and the worms are feeding on the residual foie gras in body, it will be the sake I’ve had.
I’ve had a lot of sake in the last few years, and I’ll be fair in saying that I’ve had better sake, in terms of technical finishes, but there are few sakes that I’ve taken to as I took to Granville Island’s.
Part of it is the joy of finding a lost friend while you’re abroad. And the lost friend is very much namazake. Like cask beer, fresh, unpasteurized sake is a special thing, and one you don’t find far from its home.
I cracked my last bottle. Masa had passed this to me, his koshu, which had been back for a year and a half. I suppose I could’ve saved it for longer, but who knows when I”ll be back in the Americas?
I cracked it, and poured a large glass from this small bottle.
The junmai ginjo nama genshu is a full sake, running at 17%. This was as well rounded out as the regular, fresher version, but a bit sweeter, with that sherry touch to it that I’d seen at Ryugin, and to a lesser degree with Toshimori’s at Salt.
This was a pretty thing, and I finished the bottle, lingering over the stretch it had to the back of my pallet, and playing with it in the hollow of my tongue.
My brother arrived to drive us to the airport. The snow was melted, and things would be safe enough. I gave one last, sad look at the sakes I’d left for my sister (she appreciates such things) and then the Boy and I left.
Done.
-
December 12 – The End
Snow.
I hate snow.
I especially hate snow when I have to get somewhere.
It wasn’t collecting yet, but that would come. I’m optimistically pessimistic about these things.
Our flight to Amsterdam was late afternoon, so Scud and I had time for a lunch, as long as we stayed nearby. I figured if we were on foot, it’d be best.
As Scud had been living on a steady diet of school food since he’d left us (broken with brief stints of my mother’s cooking) I figured I’d leave the choice to him.
“All things considered, I could eat at Moderne Burger.’
We arrived, but my sense of variety was rebelling. I’d eaten here already this trip. Maybe there was something close?
I’m weak.
After all the back and forth of the gaul of Boulud coming to Vancouver……I dropped in to Bistro Moderne.
It was their first lunch (they’d just done the first open night). They had plenty of tables, and Boulud was cooking.
C’mon, I just needed lunch.
I can’t comment on changes to the interior, really. I’ve eaten in Lumiere, but when I ate at Feenie’s last, it was outside on the sidewalk (a burger with a side of foie gras, as I recall).
Clean enough, somewhat retro in feel, but the bar was stunning (and I should’ve taken a picture). There was a lot of brown, light wood floors, and dark brown benches, faced with red leather chairs. Lots of mirrors to open up the space.
The crowd was light. With us there were three other covers, and one lady waiting expectantly by the bar.
The menu looked good. Nothing challenging, but solid, although I was a bit taken aback at a two course lunch. Appetizer or dessert, with main. I’m used to 3 courses for this price. They offer the normal signature burger (steak, short ribs, black truffles), blanquette de veau avec herbes, roasted sablefish, mussels, char, tuna, chicken, pork, steak frites, coq au vin, duck confit, and leg of lamb.
Scud had the butternut squash soup to begin. Good, with the taste of cloves and cinnamon in it. This was an appropriate dish for a cold, wet morning.
I’d ordered a glass of the Grenache, a Cotes du Ventoux, South Rhone 2006. Scud approved of the nose ( I don’t dare let him taste in this country).
I started with the duck country pate, served with some pickles and a bit of mustard. Very nice, with a good bit of texture to the pate. As I said, not challenging, but solid.
For a main, Scud had the roasted sablefish, with bacaloa and herb crust, sweet pepper, and basil.
Scud pronounced it far better than what the lunch ladies had been feeding him. I tried a bit, and again admired this fish for it’s texture and richness.
For myself, I’d ordered the blanquette du veau with herbs. The veal was extremely soft, and the sauce had just a bit of tang to lighten and lift it in the pallet. This was very good, and made the choice of lunch well worthwhile. And the fresh brussel sprouts just sparked it the right way, with that slightly sour, buttery taste to go with the mushroom in the sauce.
Boulud himself came by to check on the tables (it was only half full) but seemed very reserved. I was content with the meal, and Scud had no qualms about having used one of his rare meals away here, so this had worked out well.
But, having been a two course meal, we didn’t stay for lunch. And there were bags to pack and one last thing to take care of.
-
I've never seen "stone cooking" before. Are the stones sizzling hot? How long to they stay warm enough to cook on? Do they only serve thinly sliced meat, or do they offer seafood as well?
I've only seen stone cooking in restaurants with very thinly sliced meats, but I don't see a reason that it wouldn't work with seafoods (or any thinly sliced food).
We didn't rush, but by the time we were finishing the last piece of meat, the stone was cooking a lot more slowly. It's a neat method, taking me back to early evenings with the Flintstones, but it just seems inefficient, so much effort going into heating up the rock which then radiates away most of its energy.
-
December 11 – Western Canada at last
I woke up early, collected my father, and left the house.
We travelled South, under the Fraser, and across the open flats of Richmond.
We were headed to Tsawassen.
(I love the Northwest place names. Unless you’ve been trained, you’ll never be able to pronounce them.)
We had to wait for one ferry, just having missed the previous one, but it wasn’t a heartbreak.. We waited in the departure complex, I ordered coffee for the two of us, and we read up on the papers.
The big headline was tax cheating software that had been turned up in a number of the “sushi” restaurants in town. According to the Province, it was a group called InfoSpec in Richmond that were selling the package. It effectively covered up billings, resequencing the receipts. (Note: the sushi restaurants in question weren’t Japanese run….check the archives for more details).
The Jamaican bobsled team was coming to town to check out the slopes prior to the 2010 Olympics.
And there was a discussion of the market for horsemeat. I mentioned the place at Pike Place Market back in the 70s (is it still there), and then I learned from dad that there was a place on Hastings back in the 1950s that sold horsemeat in Vancouver.
I’d like to find a place that does their fries in horse fat.
And that made me hungry.
As a child, I’d always liked eating on the ferry. The menu’s spruced up now to the point that I can’t recognize it, but they still have their fries, with plastic condiment cachets of vinegar to go with them.
I couldn’t help myself.
We’d lucked out with the day. The clouds that had dogged me for the last week had broken, and it was blue sky over the Straits.
I always look at these islands like Conrad, and see soft amalgamations of green, but know of the rock and scrabble that they actually consist of. I’d worked out here with dad ages back, when he dragged me along on one of his projects, collecting soil samples and working the inlets in small boats. While it looks beautiful, would I live here?
I’d need a good kitchen.
But, let’s leave that behind us.
We were en route not to Victoria, the usual destination, but to Mill Bay, and Scud’s school.
I’d come for the boy.
I’d worried about missing the Mill Bay ferry, but I needn’t have. They hold it until it fills up with the Tsawassen-Sydney traffic. Dad waited in the car, and I toured topside, playing the tourist.
The Boy was ready. The crows cawed in disappointment to see him leave. (I’ll include this shot for those of you who haven’t seen him for awhile…..he needs a haircut).
When we’d asked Scud why he chose this school, his answer was “the view”.
We ran a quick detour through Nanaimo, checking out dad’s roots.
The city looks quite good now. It was a coal town originally, and then a lumber centre. And then…..I’m not quite certain. But the older part of town, is well restored, and there were a number of interesting looking places about that might draw me back in the future.
But the highlight was finding plaques about that talked of grandfather, who built a lot of the city. We toured about, looking at the old stone houses he’d put up, and listening to dad’s stories of the good and bad times of the contracting business.
And then we headed back for the Mainland.
I’d only seen the Korean side of the family once this trip. We’d planned to come over the next day, but now we heard forecasts of snow on the radio.
I don’t do well with snow.
I called ahead as we came off the ferry, and we arranged to drop by.
Now, those of you that know Koreans know that you can’t visit without eating.
Yoonhi’s sister cooked. It was a last minute affair, but good as always.
For protein, we had fried moose burgers. This was ground moose (sorry, Bullwinkle), onion, carrots, garlic, bread crumbs, and soy sauce.
And she made a very good chigae with slabs of fresh tofu and oxtail in the broth.
There was mu kimchi (daikon) to go with the meat.
Mounds of rice were on the table, two more types of kimchi, (one of them ggenip – perilla) and a very nice pickle of brocolli, celery, onion, yams, mu (daikon) and cauliflower. The red colour comes from beet, which isn’t something I associate with Korean cooking, but it worked really well.
Fed, we three generations of the Green males piled back into the Merc and drove through the lowering temperatures back down the mountain, across Lion’s Gate, through Stanley Park, and around English Bay to Kits.
At home, we settled down for the night, to the joy of more packing.
Next – The End
-
December 10 – Argo Cafe
I was in the mood for an early lunch, late breakfast sort of meal. I started driving, and headed east.
At first I thought of something Asian, but I was still relishing the tastes of Kingyo.
Then I thought French, but didn’t want to worry about parking.
And then I realized, I was past Cambie and nearing Main, driving East on 1st. I swung onto Ontario.
I could stop at the Argo Diner.
It was a couple of years ago, when I’d been dining with Russ and Wendy, that Russ had started to rave about this little diner that only did breakfast and lunch, closing in mid-afternoon.
Yoonhi and I checked it out, and were stunned. Okay, we had to get past the day labourer thing outside (I asked the waiter, and there used to be a bureau that dealt with this and everyone had numbers, but the bureau isn’t there any more. The guys still come here, though, as it’s a known spot to find craftsmen, labourers, or just guys to do things).
Now, if we go back, we stop in here on the way to and from the East to home.
So, what’s the big deal, you say? (Yeah, most of you are in the know, I know)
First, let’s talk diner chic
This place has it all. Booth dining. Formica table tops, blackboards with the daily specials, and there used to be one of the lucky kitty’s with it’s hand bobbing up and down.
Very 50’s/early 60’s diner. What Moderne Burger tries to be, but without the gleam.
But, if you’re pearing at that menu, it’s the food that makes it.
Let’s consider what was on this morning.
- spaghetti
- top sirloin
- pork chop
- feta chicken
- fish n chips
- chicken chile con queso (Yoonhi still raves about this)
- beef and brocolli (under their stir fry)
- spicy lamb and noodles
- house chowmein
- burgers
- salads
- black bean seafood
- Asian spicy lamb shank
- Chocolate mousse
- Cream caramel
- Tiramasu
Plus eggs and bacon, toast, and everything you’d expect.
And like good diners everywhere, from the Ovaltine to Goldfinch….you get soup.
I had the chowdah. Lots of clams in there, and a very satisfying broth, rich with seafood.
I went for the Asian spicy lamb shank. This came with pinenuts, shiitaki, mushroom risotto and ginger soya.
This is what I expect from a diner nowadays. And this dish was all of around $9. I’ve had very good duck leg confit here, and Yoonhi loved the seared tuna, and those were in the same price range. One of our friends starts drooling when I remind her of her prime rib here. That was probably the most expensive item, at around $12.
But, hey, I’m not concerned about the price (you know me by now), I’m here for the food.
This is good.
Really good.
The risotto was proper. Someone had been in there keeping it properly stirred all the while, no variation in the grain.
I’d love to know the full story. What I heard from Russ is that one of the mainline chefs just got tired of not having a life, and had enough money to pick up this place, and just cook what he likes for the half day, and then have his evenings to be normal.
If that’s the case, then he’s a happy man (or woman).
From behind me, the woman in industrial coveralls is talking to the waiter;
“This is fabulous.”
Next door to me is a family who’ve come out here especially for this lunch, visiting from outside of the city.. They know the lady who’s come out from the kitchen, and talk happily of the food.
And I’m perfectly content with my service. Bright, cheerful, and in the know about what they’re serving and how it’s put together. These are people that like what they do.
Now, they don’t have a liquor license, but they don’t really need one. I went for a perfectly suitable milkshake (chocolate) as my dessert, having contented myself with Vancouver water for the rest of the meal.
I should probably sing the praises of Vancouver water at this point, but I’ll leave that alone for now.
I was tempted for the tiramasu, but backed down, knowing my limits.
Mainly, I needed to be able to squat down and pack.
For dinner, I’ll leave out the photos, as I didn’t take any. With all this dining out, I’d kept the final days for family. Mom made a perfectly serviceable roast beef, more root vegetables, and big pots of tea. I had some sake (which goes well with a roast) and then a bit of the Scharffenberg vodka to clear my sinus.
We sat downstairs and watched the National, and I only left the couch in order to get more tea for mom and dad.
And the cats waited patiently for me to try and descend the stairs.
-
Time is running out.
There are only two more days of Vancouver (really one and a half).
I'm almost there.
But I have only one more night here before I start the next trip.
It's bad enough that Rona has beaten me to completion with her Singapore write-up, she'll never let me live it down if I don't get this done this month!
-
December 9 – Turning Japanese
Vancouver has long been a good place for Japanese cuisine. In the old days there was Aki’s and there was Koji’s – places where Yoonhi’s father would hang out with his friends – Koji being one of them.
Koji left Koji’s and started Koko’s. It must’ve seemed like the right thing to do, but out there on Hastings (not far from Mikado Trading for you martial arts buffs) And then Koji retired, and his son has taken over the reins, breathing new life into the restaurant.
But I’m not going to talk about Koko’s here. If I was splitting my time between the North Shore and Kits, I’d have dropped in, but it’s a bit out of the way for me.
Where was I going?
Oh, yes! Japanese food and Vancouver. In the late 70s, more places sprouted up, and Yoonhi and I went to every one of them we could find. By the early 80s the Japanese boom was well underway, and sushi, tempura, and teppanyaki were suddenly everywhere. Especially around the cluster of Robson and Thurlow.
Pretty soon it was beyond the capability of any one person to stay abreast of the volume of “Japanese” restaurants in town (although you could probably stay on top of the ones that were actually owned, run, and operated by Japanese, or Japan-trained chefs).
But things were still pretty traditional. Tatami rooms, sushi bars, lots of bamboo partitions. Streams through the dining room and little bridges, and spectator dining around the gleaming steel of a tepanyaki.
But in the 90’s things started changing. The market started booting itself, like skaters dancing. What was driving things was the influx of “homestay” students. Kids from Japan and Korea were here for the long haul, had money, and wanted something like at home. (Yes, there are students from elsewhere, too, but let me stick with the Japanese thing for now, as the affluence is a factor. I’m going somewhere with this, I promise)
The city found itself having crossed over to critical mass. Japanese and Korean places could cater to Japanese and Koreans, and stop making allowances for the rest of us (not that we wanted allowances to be made). I could stop in at places on Robson at 2:00 a.m. for a bottle of soju and some kim bap, then wander down the street for prawns shucked fresh from the tank, their meat still squirming while their heads were placed in front of us to dance. The language around us was all from the other side of the Pacific.
Doesn’t sound like much in today’s climate, but back then it was invigorating.
Aidan and I came out of one place late one night on Robson, and the owner raced after us, pressing cards on us offering us jobs teaching English in Japan and Korea.
We didn’t give up our day jobs.
So, the idea of bar hopping, eating and drinking our way through Japanese restaurants, just seemed natural to us.
Mike at Chow had recommended Kingyo, and all of his other suggestions had been excellent. Reading up on things, there was also Guu (with a couple of branches), Gyoza King (I love dumplings), and several others, the bulk of them on the Robson corridor between Burrard and Denman.
The more I read, the more excited I became. This was a step beyond what I’d seen a decade ago, and, after that last trip to Japan, I wanted this. Russ and Wendy had both been to Japan recently as well, and I knew they’d appreciate it, too.
Russ and I both have the sake bug, so we decided we start out with Kingyo, and then see how far we got. Wendy, the sensible part of our triad, would be behind the wheel.
I arrived first at Kingyo. It was interesting seeing Denman at night. Good colour, lots of neon, and, like much of Vancouver, restaurants packed everywhere.
It’s an odd part of town for me. If we were going to Stanley Park, we’d generally bypass it. And I didn’t have many friends in the West End, so we wouldn’t party down there much. It was almost a blind spot for many of us.
But, wandering down the street, it sure looked like good eating. Korean places, Japanese places, everything was packed together.
But, I was here for Kingyo first.
Through the door, out of the rain, I was in heaven.
Tinkling blue Christmas lights on the bamboo centrepiece. Frank Sinatra and Harry Conick Jr singing carols. Knick knacks all about the place.
I could’ve been back in Tokyo.
Being first, I get to order the sake before anyone else can show up to argue. I called up an Okayama, and settled into the mood.
I also decided it would be good to get some food coming so that Russ and Wendy wouldn’t go hungry.
I’m a considerate guy.
First up was tako wasabi. They gave me my choice of how to have the octopus, either raw or cooked. I went for half and half.
The dish came proper, in two slightly mismatching bowls in a nicely roughed up looking bit of a ceramic tray, dry sheets of nori at attention.
Inside (sorry, I was getting fuzzy again, but I hate using a flash inside) were the pretty tidbits of octopus, with a gentle bite of fresh wasabi about them in the juice. Alongside the dryness of the sake, this was a perfect start.
I had to work hard to leave any for Russ and Wendy.
They both arrived at about this time, and Russ had the glint of glee in his eyes as he took the place in.
“I love the Christmas music!”
We ordered the beef tendon, which came rich in a dark stew. This was soft, warm, and the sort of thing you just curl about on a wet and cold night.
Prawns in mayonnaise doesn’t sound too exotic, but they’d been battered and fried just right, served with a bit of greens to bring up the aroma, and yuzu had been put into the mayonnaise.
The jalapeno salad just sounded like too much fun not to do, and it lived up to our expectations. Not burning hot (it’s rare to have too much spice in Japanese food), but with a tang and a twist that was entertaining.
Fish seemed like a good idea – Black Cod, crisp on the skin, but soft and wet in the flesh, with a lemony sauce and a wedge of lime.
By this time we were weighing our options. Do we stay here and eat and drink more, or do we try to hit more places?
Well, we hadn’t tried the stone cooking yet, and there seemed like a lot more on this menu that we still needed to try.
And it was raining……
And our waitress was really cute……
Stone cooking was a trip. I’d done this before, but with a flat slate. Here it was an aesthetically rock-like rock, heated up and waiting for the raw cuts next to it to be shown their fate.
Wendy had some tea. And they brought out some of the burnt rice soaked in hot water – what the Koreans call (which means I can’t remember what the Japanese call it). This has been a delicacy of sorts since the advent of electric rice cookers has put an end to burn rice in your pots.
The accouterments make a place like this, and the selection of pots, dishes, and trays all had that “properness” that I admire in Japanese dining. “Tastefully eclectic” may be the term I’m groping for. I’m certain there’s a Japanese word for it.
This was perhaps the only disappointment. Snow crab and cheese. It was quite pretty, but when you bit in, what you tasted was mainly the fried dough, with not enough of the ingredients coming through.
The meal, the menu, the décor, and the waitress was all playful enough that I felt like something different. So I strayed from sake and tried a bottle of You’s time. This was a yuzu flavoured “cocktail sake”, like a better lemon, that wasn’t too strong, and looked to leave us standing at the end of the night.
We ordered a bowl of the tata noodles, that came out with a broth thick with fish, miso, peanut, and sesame.
“And it’s got that crazy Chinese pickle in there”.
We had to order a roll of saba, which comes out with cheezu in the middle. Put that together with really excellent rice, and I could be back in Morimoto’s in Roppongi, with that couple asking for cheese in their rolls.
So, we had to have a nigitoro – chopped tuna with spring onion and “special sauce”.
Damn, this was good rice.
And, to finish, a chestnut gelato with some mini-waffles to go alongside. The spoons were out and dueling for this.
This was an excellent meal. The three of us (well, at least Russ and I) were somewhat over the top with glee at all the different things we found here.
We’d both been taken back to Tokyo by the ambience when we came it, but if you ask me, the feel was more of Osaka, of the cheerful “in the kitchen” attitude that you get there. And a dish like beef tendon just cries Osaka to me.
The place was half-packed when we’d arrived, and was bustling by our finish. We’d sort of lost track of the original idea of trekking between restaurants, but if you find something that works, why trade it in?
I should mention, too, that our uber-cute waitress was looking forward to Boulud’s opening at Lumiere. She’d eaten at some of his places in the States, and liked what he did. She also recommended the Japanese bar that was next to Benny’s and Lumiere.
Time. I was running out of time.
Next – Nighthawks at the Diner
[note: edited to get the brackets the right way around on the picture links....DOH!]
-
Café Iguana is owned by the same folks who do the brew pub and wine bar nearby. I didn't go there, but my colleagues spoke well of it (and the other businesses as well).
That's Brewerkz, isn't it? Do they still have the Mougwai on tap?
-
I liked what An has done at Gastropod in Vancouver. Emphasis on ingredients first, and then the proper technique to bring out the most.
I'd also recommend Paul Pairet at Jade On 36 in Shanghai. Again, the meal is the important thing, not showmanship.
But, for showmanship, is Paco Rancero still at the Casino in Madrid?
(edited for clarification)
At the start of the thread, Doc was looking for the "10 best". There was a good point later on, when people started breaking out those that were in the top for their influence on the art.
I like these three in that they're more of the Second (or Third?) wave of chefs that are thinking these things through.
Okay, I'm probably as fuddled as before.
-
December 9 – Adversity strikes again
From the Greedy Pig, my plan had been to take in RedXRed (Red - to the power of 2 - square). This was the Russian place that had been getting talked about. They were talked about for their selection of vodkas, and that seemed like a reasonable thing to take in on a walk.
I was as prepared as I ever am, which means not at all. What I knew was that they were on Granville Street, towards the bridge end.
Once I arrived on Granville, however, it was to find that section of the road ripped up and under massive construction. I scouted the West side of the street, but didn’t turn up anything. Then I found a place where pedestrians were allowed to cross, and worked back up the East.
I should have known that the Russians would be in the East block.
(Sorry)
My timing today was challenged. This place, advertising itself as a Tapas bar (Russian tapas? I guess there’s enough overlap with past zones of influence in Latin America) looked fairly slick.
At least as far as I could tell through the windows. They don’t open until 5 p.m., too.
So, this may read as odd material for a post, but can someone fill in the blanks here? What do they carry in terms of vodkas? What are the plates like? I’d heard that they had Ikon, and it’s even money they’ve got Russian Standard’s new line. But are they limiting themselves just to Russian vodkas, or are the also covering the grassy offerings from Poland and elsewhere in that old Evil Empire?
If someone has the story, please chime in. I’ve got a soft spot for the Russians since that last trip there. (I never did write that one up, did I?)
Next – Denman by Night
-
December 9 – Grazing Rights
I’d carried my laptop about with me in order to catch up on my writing, but hadn’t had the space at Jules to unlimber it.
While it’s good exercise carrying it about, I’d feel better if I’d actually used it for its function, as opposed to a training aid.
I’d wanted to get back to the Greedy Pig, and, as I passed, it was conveniently deserted, so I slipped inside.
After Salt the other day I’d looked in here, and had been taken by the similarities. They’re also doing tasting platters of meats and cheeses,with a selection of three meats and two cheeses here for a reasonable price. And the wine selection is also quite good,. They even had Spanish cavas (although I wasn’t feeling bubbly).
Good selection of malts; affordable wines; and my only downside was that all they had on tap was Sleaman’s
I should’ve checked if they had the gear for absinthe. This looked like a good place for doing wormwood.
(As an aside, I’d noted that Bimini’s which was doing absinthe, torched sugar and all, had burnt down a couple of years back, and still wasn’t rebuilt. What gives? Their off-sales outlet is up and running. I thought that a liquor license was worth many times it’s weight in gold?)
And, thankfully, the C&W they’d been playing last time was gone, and the Stones were on the stereo.
It’a a big room. Tall ceilings, and no sense of claustrophobia. Having said that, the kitchen is very much an add-on, taking up a space about the size of my closet at home. I discussed the butcher’s platter with the waitress, called for a glass of Malbec (the Finco Los Primos 2006) and then unloaded my kit.
Two runners of bread, one toasted (like me) and the other not; a good glass of wine, and a plate of cheese, pates, meats, and fruit.
I have simple needs.
Oyama’s duck prosciutto was my favourite. Wet and juicy, with gobs of fat and salt just begging for a wash of the malbec.
The cheese was the Roaring 40s from Tasmania. I’d been seeing this about on the menus. Clumpings of mould in the creamy backdrop.
The saucissons sec and the pate de compagne are both also from Oyama. The saucissons would do well with something other than the malbec, so I save those for the next wine, a Guigal Cotes du Rhone 2003. Michael Ginor had been working with Guigal at his dinner last year at the WGF.
The other cheese was a triple cream from France, who’s name slipped by me (I have something written down, but even a doctor couldn’t decipher it), and there was a fan of pears, a brandy and apricot compot, olives, and grapes to match up the flavours.
Surely there are few pleasures in life to compare with a couple of good wines, meats, and cheeses in the comfort of a warm room on a rainy day?
I leafed through their menu, and wished for more time (and appetite). Marrow and toast; duck leg confit; braised short rib; salads of fennel and the ever popular beet root; pig pot pie, and cassoulet de Toulouse. And they were preparing all of these in that armoire of a kitchen.
They have my respect.
Next – A Flash of Red
-
December 9 – Gang A’Glay
Everyone had been talking of Le Brasserie, down on Davie. I’d done very well so far in tailoring my eating around the recommendations of the cogniscenti, and saw no reason to break with a winning method.
A lot of people had been saying things about La Brasserie. They said wonderful things. Amazing things.
They just didn’t say that it wasn’t open for lunch.
Adversity. Deal with it.
Well, I had to eat somewhere. But where to use up a meal? I treat them like genies’ wishes, and so didn’t want to eat just anywhere.
Vera’s is an old Davie St. stand by, but I’m always nervous about burger places next door to vets. (sorry, I just had to toss that one off).
And so, I set off on one of my usual death marches.
Saveur is always good, but I wanted to try someplace I hadn’t been before (but their lunch menus are an excellent deal).
Some of the izakaya on Thurlow looked interesting, but I had plans for the evening, and didn’t want to misdirect. Besides, they were all packed. I hate waiting.
So, what to do?
I’d been directed by the good folk at Boneta to try either Salt or Jules. And the names Jules had come up before, sooooo…….
I arrived. They were full. I waited.
I propped myself up at the bar with a sauvignon blanc and took in the room.
Very Belgian/French bistro style. Lots of wood, good light streaming in from the tall windows, and the cozy feel of a home. A nice touch was the piano against one wall, with what I think were family-style black and white portraits of the waitresses, creating a 1930’s feel.
All it needed was Edith Piaf to enter (or perhaps Jacques Brel?)
I watched as the extremely petite waitresses (I’ll come back to that) eased gracefully between the tables.
I couldn’t ease quite so gracefully.
While it does create a feeling of shared well being, there’s a point where just too many tables are jammed in. I realized, as I shoehorned myself in, that all of the waitresses fitted a certain form, one that, beyond aesthetics, was functional to the operation of the room.
Lunch was straightforward enough. I’d missed my mussels at Chambar, and so had to make up for lost opportunity. I took the moules frites, and moved on to a glass of the Pfaffenheimer gewurtz and settled into the conversations about me.
Food is the common talk in Vancouver. The rest of the nation may be tied up in the constitutional crisis that had spiraled Canada – fairly stable to that point – into the economic turmoil of the rest of the world, but the talk at the table next to me was about what they’d be cooking this evening, and on my other side two ladies were talking about some celebrity chef on television the night before.
(If you have to know, the one fellow decided he’d go by T&T and see what looked good, a plan I follow often enough myself).
The moules were a little heavy on the garlic (which isn’t something you’d expect to hear from me), but the meat was plump and had the flavour of the sea that I’d missed. The frites were crisp and with just the right amount of salt. My lissome waitress made certain that I had enough bread, and so I was content enough.
As if a bell had sounded, the restaurant suddenly cleared. Obviously they were tied to the traditional lunch hour. With far fewer guests, the atmosphere relaxed, and I slowly worked through my food and wine while giving my thoughts over to the past couple of weeks.
Travelling solo is something I used to hate, but the older I grow (and I’m definitely growing as I age) the more comfortable I am with it, slipping in and out of scenes like Hitchcock.
Still, this had been a long time away on my own. I had my friends here, of course, and I’d enjoyed meeting new people, but, even though this was “home”, it wasn’t mine. In the manner that a bear craves its den, I was looking forward to a return to my things.
I was becoming maudlin, perhaps a combination of the rain and the gewurtztraminer, and it was best if I moved on. I took a moment in departure to find my waitresses’ preferences for eating in town (again, the Russians were mentioned, and she argued for Kingyo out of the izakaya), then I pried myself away.
Time was growing short. There were still things to be eaten.
Next: Greed and the Pig
-
Talk to me about boiled (water cooked) fish. I haven't tried it but notice it more and more and had an owner tell me it was her most ordered dish. I'm not wrapping my head around the idea just yet.
I can understand the most popular dish part.
The first time I saw water-cooked fish was at the Dark & Duck across from the Kempinski in Beijing in 2004. It's gone now, along with the rest of that block, having made room for a new mall.
The dish came out in a stainless steel bowl, and all I could see was a glaring red flashing from the rim of the bowl as it went by...and by...and by....
They made a big deal of the duck here, but everyone seemed to be ordering this particular dish, so we had to as well.
What arrived was a fillet of fish submerged under a soup that was about three inches thick in crushed red chili peppers and Sichuan peppercorns. These were spooned out so that the liquid was relatively clear (but still an angry red) and then we set to.
(That was also the place that did the shredded potatoes deep fried with chilis and peppercorns in a mound that looked like Marge Simpson's hair-do. I tried doing that at home one time, and nearly killed us all).
The water-cooked style is addictive, and was on my list of things to learn how to make in Chengdu. Albeit, what I learned was the handling for pork, rather than fish.
You can wade through that entry, but let me synopsize what I'd written then:
- The pork is sliced thin, and marinated with rice wine and a lot of bean starch (the Sichuan bean starch is heavy with papane, which will tenderize the meat quickly). With fish, just have it filleted.
- In a small bit of oil (by Sichuan standards) flash the celery with a taste of salt. Then remove the vegetables to the serving dish.
- Then, in a bigger puddle of oil, cook up the ginger and smashed chilis with soy and pepper, and then added water to work up a soup.
- Put the meat in the soup, with a bit of MSG (this was China) and some sugar, and a dash of dark soy. The meat will cook almost instantly. Take it aside, too, and put it on the vegetables.
- top with pre-fried dried chilis, and a handful of crushed peppercorn. Add on some garlic, and a handful of chopped spring onion.
- hit that with some sizzling oil to flash cook it
- and then you can add the soup back in.
- "water cooked" but, as Java said "Sichuan people like their oil".
And, no noodles?You know, I'm not sure I remember seeing noodles on the menu!
The full name for what we had at Alvin Gardens was Dongting broiled fish in chili soup, so I can't say for certain if it was the same as what I'd described (you can read it on the last of the menu shots above - Thanks for that, fmed!)
Travelogue: Valentine's Day in Thailand
in Elsewhere in Asia/Pacific: Dining
Posted
You've gotta start taking notes!
I'm going to try and finish this before you get Cambodia done!