carswell

The best ever sweet potato soup. Adapted from a John Ash recipe in New American Chefs and Their Recipes by Lou Pappas (San Francisco: 101 Productions, 1984). Sweet potato soup with jalapeños and lime cream Boil 3 medium sweet potatoes until tender. Cool, peel and cut into large chunks. Meanwhile, peel and dice 1 or 2 yellow onions and sauté in butter until the edges begin to brown. In a food processor or blender, purée the onions, sweet potatoes and 1 cup chicken stock. Transfer to a saucepan, add 3 cups chicken stock, 1-2 seeded and finely diced jalapeno peppers (here in Quebec where the jalapenos are wimpy, I use up to a half dozen) and salt. Cover and simmer for 30 minutes. Ladle into bowls and garnish with a swirl of lime cream and 2 or 3 ribbons of lime zest. Lime cream Combine 1/2 cup sour cream with the grated zest of a lime. Thin with lime juice (about 1 lime's worth) to a pourable consistency.

The History of Bubble Tea

Heads up! Between Thursday, October 7, and Monday, October 11, 10% off all wines priced $20 and over. According to SAQ.com, the promotion applies to:

Just replied to a similar query on another board, Maeve. In season, fresh truffles can be found at Latina, Chez Louis and, so I'm told, Chez Nino. Any fresh black/brown ones you find now are likely to be inferior summer truffles (Tuber aestivum) or Chinese truffles (T. himalayensis). The superior Périgord or French truffle (T. melanosporum) probably won't show up until November or December. According to various Web reports, the Piedmontese white truffle season has begun. They're imported to Montreal, though I've only seen them in restaurants, not stores. (Does anyone know who in the city sells them retail?) Anyway, they definitiely fall into the utterly exorbitant category. Canned truffles — whole or chopped, unadulterated or combined with mushrooms, herbs, etc. — are pale imitations of fresh. Ditto the two frozen Périgord truffles I've tried (got them at Chez Louis). Have seen sauce recipes calling for truffle juice but have never plonked for a can. A couple of foodie e-friends of mine swear by truffle flour, which I believe is white flour aromatized with white truffles the same way you truffle eggs by storing them for a few days in a closed container with black truffles; they use it to flavour béchamel-type sauces, pasta dough, mashed potatoes and as a thickener. I've yet to find it in Montreal, however.

Or maybe you've got a chip on your shoulder? Zach and the rest of the Brunoise team have shown nothing but the utmost professionalism in their dealings with me and, if the glowing reports on boards like eGullet and Chowhound are anything to go by, others. Brunoise is a class act all the way. edit: My mistake. eat2much is not chef Michel but merely one of countless happy Brunoise customers. Mea kulpa.

The chef is Michael Minorgan, whom a possible spam post on Chowhound refers to as "the city's Cajun specialist."

Viognier gets me thinking of white food (fish, shellfish, sweetbreads, pasta, chicken breast, etc.), especially when prepared with fresh herbs and cream. Pacific Rim preps can work too, provided the heat, sugar and spice are kept in check. Some first-course pairings I've enjoyed: fettucine with sweetbreads, mirepoix and cream (<Chez Panisse Cooking); halved new potatoes stuffed with dill or chive-spiked salmon tartare (all smoked salmon or half fresh half smoked) and endive leaves piled with fresh crab seasoned with lime juice, fish sauce and cilantro; shrimp and cherry tomato brochettes with basil butter; langoustines wrapped in basil leaves and filo, deep-fried and served with a runny pesto (<Robuchon); pike quenelles in a Nantua-style cream sauce; curried chicken/shrimp/scallop brochettes; scallops seared in butter; and lobster and potato salad dressed with a fines herbes mayo. Quiche usually has me reaching for pinot blanc, riesling, unoaked chard or maybe a chenin blanc; if you gussied it up with herb and seafood flavours, I guess it might work with viognier, though the wine's low acid would worry me. Cheese and viogner aren't soulmates in my experience, exception made for Rigottes de Condrieu, of course. Grenache-based Rhone-style blends are often as close as you can get to an all-purpose red. For finger food, I often serve squares of warm grilled country bread spread with pesto rosso and garnished with a caper or two. A few other ideas: stuffed meat rolls (thin slices of lamb spread with pesto rosso or tapenade, for example); cumin-rubbed grilled quail half on couscous studded with dried figs and currants; cherry tomatoes stuffed with niçoise-style tuna; seared tuna slices on wholewheat crackers with wasabi mayo (<Charlie Trotter Cooks at Home); bastilla; crostini di fegatini (chopped chicken/duck liver on toasts); and wild mushroom bruschetta. Feel free to PM me if you'd like more detailed descriptions or (in some cases) recipes.

Young shoots, usually available in the spring and early summer, can be chopped raw and added to salads. Older plants often benefit from blanching to remove bitterness and salt. Steamed or sautéed, it makes a fine vegetable accompaniment, especially to fish. I also like it with spuds, either chopped and stirred into mashed potatoes or puréed in soup. The French combine chopped pickled salicorne with crème fraîche to make a sauce for smoked herring and other marinated fish. And this thread has got me thinking that it might be a tasty addition to a seafood risotto.

Thanks for the link, bong. I assume Katzer is referring to popular names when he equates nigella and onion seeds, because botancially they are not related (Nigella sativa, a member of the buttercup family, vs. Allium cepa, a member of the lily family). Not how I read his (and others') statements. He says they look the same but taste different. Obviously he's seen and tasted both. I'm increasingly curious as to whether true onion seeds are used in cooking. Katzer and every other reference I've looked at are silent on the subject.

Thanks, Episure. That looks like my kalonji and the nigella illustration in Ms. Solomon's book. But bearing in mind Mr. Kochhar's dictum ("Nigella seeds look like onion seeds"), would you happen to have a picture of black onion seeds?

Ms. Lawson is named after her father, Nigel. Miriam-Webster gives the pronunciation as NEE-gel-uh (my transliteration), though the store clerks I've talked to all pronounce it like Ms. Lawson's first name. MW defines it as "any of a genus (Nigella) of the buttercup family having dissected threadlike leaves and usually blue or white flowers; especially Love-in-a-mist."

In the glossary of Indian Essence, Atul Kochhar writes: In her Encyclopedia of Asian Food, Charmaine Solomon writes: The kalonji entry in Ms. Solomon's encyclopedia says "See NIGELLA." There is no onion seed entry. Yet most Montreal spice mongers, including the East Indians, sell packages labelled "Kalonji (onion seed)." Come to think of it, I don't recall ever seeing nigella labelled as such. Based on Ms. Salomon's description and illustration, I'd guess my bag of "kalonji (onion seed)" is nigella, though Mr. Kochhar's second sentence sows the, er, seeds of doubt. Is there any way I can tell without paying Monica's round-trip passage from DC? Are onion seeds even used in Indian cooking? If so, when? (I'm pretty sure I've seen them called for in recipes, but perhaps the authors meant nigella?) And if onion seeds aren't called kalonji or nigella, what are they called?

Am beginning to think that the book's photographs are less than completely accurate representations of the finished dishes. The pic of the signhora diye kolmi saag bhaji shows a pile of water chestnuts and barely wilted watercress leaves sitting in a puddle of ochre broth. My version of the dish, faithful to the letter of the recipe, was completely dry. It tasted great, though, and went nicely with kaffir lime marinated salmon brochettes.

Finally convinced myself to pop the cork on the bottle of Hardys SS that was the impetus for this thread. The occasion was a dinner featuring the Marathi-style lamb shank from Atul Kochhar's new cookbook, Indian Essence, itself the subject of a thread on the Indian board. While disorienting, the wine didn't quite provide the freakish experience I'd been fearing (and maybe secretly hoping for). We didn't gag on it. The bubbles took some getting used to, though anyone who's quaffed Lambrusco already has a head start. This bottle, which had been sitting in my cellar for three or four years and god knows how long at the LCBO before that, showed no sign of aging. Opaque black-red, it would have presented an imposing picture to the eye had it not been for the magenta pink foam. The nose was restrained, perhaps due to the chilling or maybe being served in a flute, but not without hints of textbook Shiraz aromas — plum, black cherry, pepper, earth. In the mouth, the wine was drier than I'd expected. Flavourwise, a bit monolithic, though the chilling, effervesence and acidity saved it from fruit bombast and flabbiness. The finish was less convincing, showing an odd disjuncture between the wine and the carbonation that had me thinking "shotgun marriage." If the SS could stand up to the spicy lamb dish, neither complemented the other, and the side dish — a savoury and pretty fiery stew of potatoes and spinach — proved positively hostile to the wine, bringing out an otherwise unapparent medicinal taste. After a glass and a half each, we stoppered the wine, returned it to the fridge and flipped the lids on a couple of bottles of extra pale ale, a far more satisfying accompaniment. I revisited the SS the next day, when it found a better match — if not a marriage made in heaven — in a bowl of spaghetti dressed with pesto rosso, parmesan and chopped parsley. By the way, this time I drank the wine from a standard white wine glass, which I preferred to the flute. Will keep in mind your suggestions if I'm ever in the market for another bottle of sparkling shiraz. Actually, I can see it working as well as any wine with a turkey and all the trimmings. Birds of a feather? ;o) Anyway, thanks for the advice.

So I made the lamb earlier this week. Followed the recipe closely (even schlepped over to the Victoria Market to pick up black cardamom) with two exceptions: as I've been suffering from a ferocious head cold, after working, schlepping and preparing the marinade, I didn't have it in me to make dinner, so the lamb marinated overnight instead of the 4–6 hours specified in the recipe. Also, I couldn't find "small dried red Kashmiri chili peppers," so I substituted an equivalent amount of dried chiles I could find (don't know the name but I suspect they're the kind that are coarsely ground into flakes for sprinkling on pizza and the like). And, in celebration of the season, I used fresh tomatoes instead of tomato paste. The instructions in the book are much more detailed than those in the linked recipe. On the whole, they were clear though I found myself scratching my head on a few occasions. For example, why should one thinly slice two of the onions and finely chop the third when they're browned together? And there's no indication of what to do with the marinade when you remove the lamb from it. Should it be wiped off the meat or should the shanks be browned with some of the marinade clinging to them? Do you toss the marinade that's left in the dish? (I didn't wipe the shanks clean before browning and threw away the leftover marinade.) I also removed the onion-spice mixture from the pan before browning the shanks because I'm sure it would have burned if left in the pan as per the instructions. Another thing: 45 minutes' braising seems a bit short to me, and indeed the lamb was quite chewy, especially the tendony parts. Lastly, I degreased the cooking liquid before buzzing it in the blender, a departure from the instructions, but a necessary one, I think, in view of the copious amount of fat rendered from the shanks. The dish smelled wonderful at every stage of the cooking. And it finished exactly as described. The sauce was exquisite: mellow, deep, savoury, sweet, tingly but not fiery — an excellent foil for the meat (or is it the other way around?). One mystery, though: in the photo in the book, the sauce is orchre whereas my sauce was a deep nut brown. That's one of the things that makes me wonder whether the tumeric-laced marinade wasn't supposed to be added to the pot along with the shanks. I doubled the recipe, by the way, in order to have leftovers. The dish reheats well, though the puréed cooking liquid has a tendency to scorch. And the meat does become more tender with extended cooking even if the sauce loses a bit of zing in the process. Looking forward to hearing how it turns out for you, Monica. Next up for me: signhora diye kolmi saag bhaji (sautéed watercress with water chestnuts), maybe with some fish kebabs.

Forget espresso. I'm talking about the foam that appears when I pour the near-boiling water on the ground coffee in a french press or filter. And aside from the inconvenience — I may have to wait for the foam to recede before I can add the remaining water — I've never noticed any lack of body or less than fully developed flavour in the resulting cup. But, hey, we agree on my original point (that one doesn't grind the beans immediately after roasting) and we're veering off topic; if you are dead set on continuing this discussion, it should probably be in a new thread.

While I don't disagree with the above, I was referring to the earliest possible moment for grinding the beans for use in making coffee, not just espresso. If you want chapter and verse on this, I'm sure I can dig up some references. And besides, some people like the foaminess, especially if the beans are purchased; it's a sign of freshness and, with French press or filter, it doesn't affect the quality of the brew.

Excuse my geekiness but most purists don't grind the beans for at least four and up to 24 hours after roasting, during which time the beans cool and emit C02. If the beans are put in an airtight container before the 24 hours are up, the gas they emit will help keep them fresh. Drink espresso within seconds of being pulled. Espresso and milk drinks as soon as they're built. French press: pressed around two minutes after the water goes in and poured immediately. Filter, mixed with hot milk and put in a thermos: up to an hour though the second cup is never as good as the first. Everything is relative, of course. Filter coffee that's been sitting in a thermos for five hours might be shun-worthy at home but tastes like heaven on the cross-country ski trail.

Any activity that gives you the opportunity to taste, especially in an controlled, analytical manner, is a good thing. "The more you taste, the more you taste." (Wish I could remember who said that.) And the WSET courses are more than just wine-tasting classes. They force you to learn about how wine is made, classified and sold. If you attend the classes on site, you get opportunities to network. And you receive a diploma, a form of official recognition, which vouches for your seriousness and may impress prospective employers. Not having taken the courses, I can't pass judgement on their ultimate worth other than to say that they are hard work and that the few in-the-business people I know who've gone through the process haven't regretted it. That said, in my experience, most people in the business didn't get in it by taking courses, though they may take courses once ITB. What kind of wine biz career do you envision for yourself? Production? Marketing? Wholesale sales? Retail sales? Journalism? Advising? Sommelier?

Stop this campaign of cultural imperialism! Seriously, at the current exchange rate, US$10 works out to about C$15. And that US$10 usually doesn't include sales tax, whereas Quebec prices always do. So, at the very least a US$10 threshold is equivalent to a C$17.25 one. But it's not that simple. Inexpensive wines tend to be cheaper in the States than in Quebec (it's often the other way around for expensive wines). For example, you pay US$9.99 for Big House Red, while I pay C$20. That BHR is the most expensive wine on my list and most of the others are 20-40% cheaper. In other words, I don't think we've lost focus at all. Besides, on an international board like eGullet, you've got to make allowances; C$10 won't get you drinkable plonk, let alone eminently drinkable plonk, in Quebec.

Foie, yes. Also, sheep's milk cheese including Roquefort. Duck with orange (could it be adapted into a canapé?). Vol-au-vents filled with sweetbreads in cream sauce. Certain Thai and Indian chicken, seafood and noodle dishes. In the dessert department: pithiviers, Paris-Brest, tarte Tatin made with apples or peaches, langue de chat cookies.

Have had neither of these in the speicified vintages but... The Bouchard is a reliable generic white Burgundy and 2002 is a good to excellent vintage; at $10, it's worth taking a chance on. Trimbach consistently makes some of Alsace's finest wines at every price level. The house style tends toward the dry and minerally, though the gewurz usually has enough underlying sweetness to soften the edges. 2001 was a very good vintage in Alsace and $13 is a good price. My advice: go for it.

Some low-end red wines I enjoyed over the summer (it's not that I shun pinks and whites, it's that a friend recently asked for a list of inexpensive reds, so I have this handy). Asterisks indicate my favourites. Prices are in Canadian dollars (C$1 = US$0.75) and include 15% sales tax. France - Peyrouzelles 2002, Gaillac, Domaine de la Causse Marine $17.50* - Clos de la Briderie 2002, Vieilles vignes, Touraine-Mesland, $17* - Touraine 2002, Cuvée Ad Vitam, Vieilles vignes, Michaud, $16.50 - Château de Grézels 2000, Cahors, $15.50 - Château Monauriol 2000, Côtes-du-Frontonnais, $18* - Château du Galoupet 2000, Côtes de Provence, $18 - Domaine du Cros 2001, Lo Sang del Païs, Marcillac, $15.50 - Château la Tour Boisée 2002, Minervois, $18.75* Portugal (quickly becoming my main source of inexpensive reds) - Pedras do Monte 2002, Castelão, Terras do Sado, DFJ Vinhos $13.10* - Quinta das Caldas 2001, Douro, Dominguos Alves de Sousa, $15.50* - Duque de Viseu 2000, Dao, Sogrape, $14.50 - Tercius 2000, Ribatejano, Falua-Sociendade de Vinhos, $19.40* - Altano 2000, Douro, Silva & Cosens, $12 (drink slightly chilled) Italy - Vitiano 2002, Umbria, Falesco, $15.50 - San Lorenzo 2001, Rosso Conero, Umani Ronchi, $18* - Medoro 2002, Marche, Umani Ronchi, $12 - Ulysse 2000, Etna, Duca di Castelmonte, $18 (nero d'avola) - Rosso Virzi 2001, Spadafora, $19 (nero d'avola and syrah) - Nero d'Avola 2001, Rapitala, $14 Morocco - S de Siroua, Domaine des Oulet Thaleb, Thalvin, $17* (excellent bargain syrah) California - Big House Red 2002, Ca' del Solo (Bonny Doon), $20* Uruguay - J. Carrau Pujol 1999, $14.20 Australia - Koonunga Hill 2001, Cabernet-Merlot, Penfolds, $16.50

Late harvest rieslings from Ontario's Château des Charmes and Cave Spring ("Indian Summer") are perennial faves around here. Vidal ice wines can be a treat; too bad about the price. A bottle of Maculan's affordable 2002 Dinderello, a sweet but not sticky muscat, opened at our annual méchoui at Rites Berbères had the entire table swooning, including a couple of diners who said they didn't normally care for sweet wines. The same producer's Torcolato is another winner, in a richer, heavier, more Sauternes-like style. The best sweet wine I've had in ages was hand-imported by friends from France in August: a 2000 Côtes du Jura vin de paille by Alain Labet. Exquisite on its own, it also made an amazing match with a couple of hand-imported chocolates specially crafted to marry with Jura's sweet wines: green cardamom ganache with Espelette pepper nougatine, and a barely sweetened almond and walnut paste with curry. Made by Arbois-based confectioner Hirsinger, the chocolates were perhaps the finest I've ever tasted. little ms foodie, I agree that Sainte Croix du Mont is producing some great sweet wines these days. Outstanding QPR but also a freshness often lacking in Sauternes. Keep an eye peeled for Château la Rame, Réserve du Château.

I second the Kramer and Wine for Dummies reccos. And when you begin to tire of "textbooks," pick up a copy of importer Kermit Lynch's 1988 Adventures on the Wine Route. Although some of the info is outdated, the book provides an excellent overview of the business, touches on many issues of continuing relevance and is just a hoot to read.