A Reverence For Food

Weeds, Organic Farming and How I Couldn't Get Enough

2016-11-14T15:02:00.000-05:00

(c)Edmund Rek/rekfotos

Driving almost three hours west from Toronto will get you pretty close to the Michigan border. Compared to the crowded walls from buildings lining multiple lane highways leaving the city, at some point the landscape becomes vast and open. Looking at the many shades of green grass, slow turning tall white windmills and manicured fences and barns seems foreign and wonderful as the miles speedily tick away. On this Sunday we are meeting a family of dedicated organic farmers for brunch and a farm tour.

We arrived a little early and parked the car in between the little farm house and two big tractors. The sun was warm and everything was huge, open, green and brown. Jessie was there and happy to see us. She said the guys, Marcus their son Maurice, were out in in the field. I decided to drive the short quarter mile from the farm house to see if I could find them.

The car handled well, bumping along the uneven ground towards a large two acre field of recently planted onions. The sound of the heavy grass scraping along the undercarriage had me a little concerned, but figured I would throw caution to the wind for a change. Interestingly, unlike in Toronto, the car radio seemed to disturb the quietness rather than shield the driver from the noise.

Standing at the edge where the grass ended and the freshly toiled soil began, I was in a conundrum. Do I walk on the peaks, or the valleys? I imagined I could do quite a lot of damage if I chose wrong. I needed to walk out about 100 yards to meet up with to Marcus, a second generation farmer, Maurice his 12 year old son and Burndt a farm worker visiting from Switzerland. They were all three shuffling along picking weeds. If I chose wrong and stepped on a seedling...I could almost hear the yell before it happened.

Taking a moment, I looked closely and I saw tiny chive tips about three inches above the surface of the mound of dirt, eight inches apart. Aha! Walk in the crevasse! As I made my way in between the rows trying to keep my balance. The angle was quite steep and it felt more like walking along a curb, heel to toe a little unbalanced.

It took several minutes for me to reach where they were working. As I approached them I yelled "Hello!" My voice startled Maurice, the youngest, who I felt most comfortable being near. I imagine less judgemental, too. Bending at the waist, as if tying my shoes, I began. He told me to look how everyone was down on one knee and do the same so I wouldn't hurt my back. Each of the other men were working quickly with handfuls of weeds shuffling along quickly. Ok, I got it. Every pore was concentrating on not picking the tiny seedling by mistake and off I went.

It was lovely touching the moist damp earth with my bare hands. Marcus offered me a pair gloves. (Not on your life!) The soil was like moist beach sand, or coarse polenta even and had the color of milk chocolate, divine. Then the smell of manure hit me and now I know why he offered the gloves. Surprisingly, it didn't bother me. There was a purity in it. And the weeds I was so intently pulling out were aromatic and succulent. Ironically, I have seen lambs quarters like these for sale at the market. There also were mustard greens and a small plant with purple leaves that may have been amaranth. I wanted to ask what the names were , but instead I focused on not pulling out the tender onion tops and not act like the clueless city-slicker that I am.

It was 10am when the three of us finished the two long rows that the guys started before I arrived. There there were many, many more left to do. (I was hoping to continue and was enjoying myself.) Marcus said it was time to eat.

We all went back to the house where Jessie, Marcus' wife, had finished making brunch. There we joined my wife and our 3 year old daughter who, thanks to Pixar, was calling everything a "Moo-Tractor." Throughout the meal I kept yearning to be back in the field. I wanted to help ease the burden of the work that lay ahead for Marcus and his family. I am certain I could have done a whole row myself. (All 230 meters!)

On the drive home, I was trying to equate my experience weeding on the farm to living in the city. It would be like taking a toothbrush and cleaning the sidewalk in front of my house and going around the block, REALLY! Hand weeding two acres...I will never look at an onion the same way again.

The Secrets of Bone Broth Part 1 - Fish

2016-11-11T10:15:00.001-05:00

Food is fashion and it's trends come and go. This year's little black dress could be next year's big blue one. And one of the latest food trends is bone broth. Made from bones simmered in water; it's not hard to do. Either beef, fish, veal, pork, chicken, duck, venison, quail, or pheasant can make great bone broth. The variation of a stock, or bone broth, comes down to simply being roasted (for a darker more flavorful broth), or not (such as in fish or chicken). After simply being simmered in water with some aromatic vegetables from anywhere to 1-8 hours, you have this high protein and nutritional meal with great "umami" flavor.

FISH STOCK - Killer secrets

Ingredients:

Leek (whites), fennel, celery, fresh bay leaf, fresh thyme. white wine, fish bones and a few white peppercorns. (If I have any parsley, or basil stems I'll throw them in, too.)

Fish stock is used for making fish soups and chowders. Sometimes fish stock can be acidulated (adding wine, or vinegar) and used for poaching other seafood. The best fish stocks are always clear and have a clean, fresh flavor. Use bones from flat fish like :turbot, halibut, flounder for the best results. These fish are high in gelatin and low in fat that will help keep your stock clear and flavorful. Ask your fishmonger fresh bones. Make sure to insist that they are not smelly, or brown. Another way to do this is purchase the whole fish and fillet it yourself. That way you can enjoy a lovely fish dinner while your fish broth simmers on the stove.

Notes on preparing the fish bones.
The bones may need to be cleaned (gills/eyes removed if you use the fish head). Your fishmonger may be able to prepare the bones for you otherwise it is easy to do. I learned how to scrape the blood from the underside spine of a fish with wooden chop sticks. Kitchen shears and a paring knife should be all of the equipment you need to remove the eyes and gills. If this doesn't sound like your thing then soaking the bones in very cold salted water will help to prepare the bones for stock. (30 minutes is all they need.)

Notes on preparing the veg. Use white mirepoix: celery, leeks (whites only), white onion, fennel, fresh bay leaf, fresh thyme and white peppercorns. Rough chop your white mirepoix and add it to a large hard-bottomed stock pot. Add enough white wine to create steam. Cover the pot and pre cook the vegetables until they are soft. The reason why the vegetables are cooked ahead of time is due to the very short cooking time for the stock (about an hour) this makes sure that everything is cooked at the same time. Cooking fish stock longer does not improve its flavour like the meat bone stocks do.
When the vegetables are tender and when most of the wine has evaporated, add the fish bones and cover the bones past a few inches with... (Killer Secret Reveal) ICE!!

Why ice? The longer and slower that you can bring the water to simmer the more flavor, the clearer, and better tasting fish stock you will have. A work around would be to add frozen fish bones to the pot and then cover 6-8 inches with water. It will achieve a similar effect by slowly coming to a simmer and extracting all of that flavour and gelatine.

Notes on simmering the stock. Like all stocks you need to bring them to a simmer very slowly to extract the most flavor. Fish stock is the most challenging to keep clear because it only cooks for an hour, or so, and it can become cloudy from all of the small cooked fish particles that come off the bones. Now, when the water comes to a simmer, before it boils, you will need to remove the scum that accumulates on the surface. These are impurities that rise up and need to be removed making it a fresher tasting and the clearer stock. After the initial scum has been removed continue to simmer for one hour. Continue to skim if more scum accumulates. If the fish stock boils it will cloud your stock. Ideally the bones will sink and rest on top of the vegetables. Whether your stock is clear, or cloudy is not to be fussed about too much, but it’s nice to know how to keep it clear if you need to.

After it has simmer for an hour, turn off the heat and allow everything to settle to the bottom. Ladle the liquid from the top, trying not to disturb the bones through a fine sieve strainer, or cheese cloth at least three times. Discard the solids from the stock.

Notes on making the broth.
To me a broth is something that is ready to eat, or slurp actually. A stock is a foundation of something else like a soup, or sauce. So, with the addition of a little seasoning and some aromatics the fish stock you just made can easily become a flavorful broth that will warm you inside and out.
The basic fish broth can be made by adding a little sea salt, or soy sauce, some chili flakes, cilantro, or just saffron and parsley to the stock.

If you want to do more, reserve the unseasoned stock and make a fish soup.

An easy recipe:
1 gallon of fish stock
1 fennel bulb small to medium dice
1 large potato medium dice
1/2 large onion small to medium dice
2 stalks of celery small dice
1 small leek small to medium dice (whites only)
1 cup of white wine
few sprigs of thyme leaves picked and chopped
very small pinch of saffron
1 small bunch parsley leaves chopped

Sweat the fennel, onion, celery and leeks in some olive oil in a heavy bottomed stock pot. When soft, season with salt and pepper and then add the white wine and reduce it to almost dry. Add the thyme and the saffron and cook for a few more minutes. If the veg caramelizes (colors) it is OK, but aesthetically I prefer little, or no color. So stirring often and keeping a medium/low heat will help to achieve this. Add the stock and simmer until the flavors are nicely balanced.

Killer Secret Reveal:
If you took it upon yourself to fillet the whole fish to use the meat and bones then you can do the followi

ng: Cut the fish fillet into small strips (small enough to fit on a soup spoon), season with salt and pepper and stir into the fish soup towards the end along with the chopped parsley. The meat won't take very long to cook. When ready check the soup for seasoning and sprinkle in a little more salt and pepper if you think it needs it. Drizzle a few drops of your favorite extra virgin olive oil over everything after you served it in a soup bowl. Prepare to have seconds.

Author's Grandfather 1950's

Eggplant! What a Wonderful Thing.

2014-08-11T06:33:00.001-04:00

With varying shades of purple, long and fat, and sometimes round it seldom resembles an egg when you find them in the grocery store. Not until you see them growing on the plant does it becomes apparent why they are called an egg-plants. As the edible part of the plant begins to grow, the roundness turns into the oval egg at the end of the plant stalk. The shape slowly begins to droop like a big dew drop on the end of a leaf becoming less egg-like.The Italian eggplant begins to elongate and becomes bell-bottomed as the plant and fruit matures and can weigh a pound or more. The Japanese eggplant is long and narrow , similar in shape to a curved cucumber and are between 6 and 18 inches long.

The skin on an eggplant is tough and it covers a firm spongy, grey interior that houses a cluster of tiny ivory colored seeds that reselmble the size and shape of caviar (another egg metaphor). As part of the nightshade family, unlike tomatoes, eggplants are almost never is eaten raw. Slightly bitter and will turn brown after cutting open from oxidation, it is lovely roasted in soups with garlic or used in stews like the great celebration of summer --Ratatouille (stewed eggplant, tomato and zucchini). The wonderful baba ganoush dip is made by peeling the charred skin of the eggplant and pureeing pulp into a dip of garlic and olive oil, which gives it a wonderful smoky flavor.

SLOW BAKING AT THE WOODLOT

2014-06-05T00:24:00.000-04:00

Fermentation and fire, both ancient and biblical, were the cornerstones of every kitchen. Throughout history we have struggled to tame these two forces of nature. Now we take them for granted. Recently, I met a bread baker who takes nothing for granted and happily embraces inconvenience for the sake of tradition.

I met Jeff at the brick-oven at Riverdale Farm In Toronto during the Friends-of-the-Farm fundraising dinner a few years back. Quite fitting as I just left him in front of another brick-oven, the one he helped build at the Woodlot, a bakery restaurant on Palmerston at College street.

As a former hotel chef who is most comfortable in big kitchens with lots of shiny stainless steel equipment, I was intrigued by the look and simplicity of this brick-oven and how it is used. It is the size of a compact car with a silver chimney that extends up to the ceiling like a giraffe's neck. The arched opening is about 2 feet tall by 3 feet wide and exposes a large flat rectangular stone surface that can accommodate up to 16 round loaves at a time.

The oven is used for bread baking after dinner service around midnight. Not too long after the echoes of the clattering of dishes and coccophony of conversations fades, Jeff prepares the oven. Nothing romantic, crumbled newspapers and kindling are stuffed inside a jenga stack of logs that were split outside, near the parking lot. The only creature comforts are a hand-held acetylene tourch to light the fire and an infrared thermometer to test the temperatures in different parts of the oven. Once the fire is lit, it's time to tend to the dough.

The dough is mixed by hand with a sour-dough "starter" and allowed to ferment slowly. The "starter" is a mixture of flour and water that activates the yeast in the whole grains, which ferments and sours, adding flavor and leavening properties to the dough. Even though there are commercial yeasts that speed up the process, the whole grain flours that Jeff uses do not benefit from the quicker method. The bread becomes very dense and is quite flavorless. The trade off for using traditional sour, is simply to add flour to it each day to keep it alive. This is the foundation of the bread and can be affected by the humidity and ambient temperature, which can shorten or lengthen the time before the dough can be shaped into loaves, or allowed to rise for a second and final time.

After about two hours the fire begins to die down and the oven is ready. Ash colored remnants of burnt wood and glowing orange embers are carefully swept into a small grey metal garbage can to cool. Then the baking surface is wiped clean of ash and soot with a damp mop used only for this purpose. The long wooden handle reaches far back into the very hot oven and it takes several sweeps. There are puffs of steam and sizzle as Jeff repeatedly thrusts his arm in as far as he can reach, rhythmically in and out, in and out. Now the oven is ready, temperatures are checked and it is time to prepare the loaves.

The baguettes are long and pointy and keep their shape between the folds of a kitchen towel. Then they are carefully placed onto a well-floured wooden paddle where the tops are cut diagonally with a razor blade, half an inch deep. This cut creates a gap in the dough as it expands in the oven like a slow deep breath. The boules, or round loaves, keep their shape in the spiral baskets, which imprints the dough and can be seen when they are flipped over onto the peel. A similar cut to the surface is made, in various designs, to indicate each type of loaf: whole wheat, rye, or spelt. Then the loaves are slipped into the oven in a quick jerk of the wooden peel.

For the brick-oven-bread-baker there is a physical tug, a back-and-forth between the oven and the dough. This baker/oven/bread triangle began when building the oven. A slow process in itself, hauling stones and mixing mortar, laying brick, by brick, building a foundation. The bread making process is the same as the construction of the oven, each step is dependent upon the next. The dough must be fully proofed and the oven must be hot enough in order to bake all of the dough. Most days it all comes together beautifully, as long as the wood is not too green, or damp, the starter is good and active, the flour is consistently milled, the ever changing humidity in the air has been accounted for by adding the correct amount of water to the dough, and the oven stays hot long enough to bake it.

After learning about all the care and attention that is need in baking bread with a wood-fired oven there is nothing quite like seeing the baskets full of dark and crusty bread waiting to cool. It's a testament to one man's dedication to the craft. Each loaf with its own story. The color of the crust indicates where in the oven it was baked; the "spring" or height of the loaf tells us if it was the first bake or the second; misting water into the oven right after the dough goes in, creates puffs of steam to form a crispy, crunchy outer crust. Take notice when choosing your bread, uniformity is not the goal and automation is the enemy.

Dedication and true commitment can be greatly rewarded to those who have the courage to clear the clutter and savor the simplicity of using ones labor. It harkens back to the bread bakers, wood-smiths, bricklayers and tradesmen who built the foundation of our civilizations so long ago. For most of us, being more aware, supporting and sharing our appreciation for the fruits of anothers labor may lead us a little closer to our past. As well as inspire someone to work hard and take ownership of the pile bread they baked, the stone wall they built, or portrait they painted.

Umami the Fifth Taste

2014-05-06T19:31:00.001-04:00

Umami translates to "a pleasant savory taste" in Japanese. This word is not well known and the taste even less so. While it is being thrown around in tasting circles to describe flavors, or nuances in wine it doesn't help those people not familiar with it.

Some foods that are associated with umami is Parmesan cheese, shiitake mushrooms, anchovies, MSG and Asian fish sauce. Still this may not be enough information to conquer the fifth taste beyond sweet, salty, bitter, and sour. So I have another example for you.

Brilliant Savarin wrote a classic book called "The Physiology ofTaste" in the 1800's and is full of gastronomic philosophy and witty snippets such as the famous , "Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are." & "A dessert without cheese is like a beautiful woman with only one eye." Savarin delves beyond the four taste sensations of sweet, sour, salty and bitter and explains a fifth taste that uses all of your bodie's senses, sex. Quite a pleasant way to extend the satisfaction a great meal and a good thing to keep mind when thinking about understanding umami.

The Pomegranate

2012-06-28T12:30:00.000-04:00

(Pomegranates at a juice vendor stall in Istanbul, Turkey.)

As a chef, I look forward to seasonal foods and finding ways to incorporate them into my menus. One of my favorite seasons is the Fall. Using the gourds, mushrooms, cabbages, turnips, apples, Brussels spouts, venison, cured hams, wild poultry, nuts, tart berries and especially pomegranates sparks creativity as bountiful as the harvest.

Pomegranates are one of my favorites. This exotic softball sized fruit is truly visually stunning. From a deep ruby red skin, to a faded pink, the color is not necessarily an indication of ripeness. Typically the darker red seeds are sweet and tart. The pale pink ones can be bitter.

The pomegranate is one of the oldest cultivated fruits. Throughout history they are thought to provide prosperity, fertility and entrance into eternal life. They are loaded with vitamin C, full of fiber and antioxidants. Its juice has been widely marketed in North America and the Pom-tini has been en vogue for quite some time. The sweet-tart crunchiness of the seeds make them quite refreshing and are fabulous in couscous, or with sautéed cauliflower, mixed with a lot of fresh flat-leaf parsley. Pomegranate molasses is also my ingredient for marinating and as a sauce for grilled lamb, chicken, or duck. Great with grilled vegetables and can be drizzled on, before, or after cooking.

Most North American kitchens are quite diverse with cooks representing all cultures that can be quite beneficial to influencing my menus. Such rich food cultures as in Latin America, Thailand, Vietnam and Eastern Europe each offer food traditions steeped in flavors of the season.

For the new fall menu I was squeezing the juice from a case of pomegranates to make a reduction to be the finishing touches on a new pheasant dish. By cutting the fruit in half and squeezing out the juice the ruby red seeds can be saved for garnish. The pastry chef, from Albania, was a bit puzzled that I was only using the juice and kept coming back taking the discarded halves and putting the rind up to his mouth and eating the seeds and squeezing out the juice. He said they tasted wonderful and reminded him of the ones he would pick as a child back home. He was so excited, saying how perfect they were. I tried one. He was right. The seeds were crunchy, sweet, juicy, then tart. (I have eaten pomegranates before, but they never never like this!) He later described the pomegranate tree that he would often visit during this time of year. He would go to the side of a rocky cliff over-looking the Mediterranean to pick the ruby red fruit. (Painting a great picture to say the least.) Soon we were both devouring the discarded halves of fruit with the juice running down our hands, arms and elbows, staining our chef white jackets.

Needless to say, I finished the pomegranate reduction with what juice was left, but it never captured the essence of flavor, or the fullness of the experience after sharing.

2012-06-18T22:43:00.003-04:00

This rye bread and Evelyn's Crackers are screaming for some cheese and wine!

Let Them Eat Cake

2012-06-18T22:36:00.002-04:00

One of the most beautiful cakes to make during strawberry season.

A simple sponge cake coated in whipped cream and decorated with sliced strawberries.

Adding sage blossoms will cover up any less that perfect curves and corners. The filling can be homemade strawberry preserves if you like. Made this one for Hilary's mum.

Fish Sauce. Ooo...that Smell.

2011-08-02T19:19:00.008-04:00

Grilled chicken marinated in fish sauce

One of the quickest, easiest and best grill marinades is fish sauce. The liquid from salted and fermented anchovies, smelly as it is, can be quite handy to many alfresco cooks. Added to anything for a few minutes, or even a couple of hours before cooking adds a depth of flavor and natural umami. Go crazy and add olive oil, fresh cracked pepper and little sea salt (season less than usual as fish sauce can be quite salty) and you are good-to-go.

Squid Brand fish sauce, in the glass bottle, is the one I like best and is available in most Asian markets.

Favorite grilled foods to add fish sauce: kale, flat iron/skirt steak, chicken, mushrooms, zucchini and the list goes on...

Once I did the "treatment" on a steak for two hours before hitting the grill. It actually tasted like bacon! Smokey. Fatty and sweet.

Tonite it was a whole chicken cut into 8 but left on the bone. One of the benefits of using fish sauce is can help caramelize whatever you are cooking.

(Please forgive me for the phone photos. Next time a video.)

Wild Blueberries, Soft Shell Crabs, My Last Meal

2011-07-27T20:32:00.006-04:00

I love soft shell crabs. The season starts during spring. Shad roe, morels, fiddleheads...spring peas...all things I took for granted while living and cooking near Maryland's Eastern Shore. Now that I am in southern Ontario, each blueberry season (which is now!), I start coming to terms with the fact that I can put a pint of wild Ontario blueberries against a couple of soft shell blue crabs and it's going to be a tie to which one would happily be my last meal.

Post Script:

I have received some rolling-eye comments about this. But it really comes down to eating within the seasons and being as close to the source of your food. You can taste the difference.

Wouldn't it be great to have a pot-luck meal where everyone brought their favorite in-season food all year 'round.

Street Food

2011-06-14T13:03:00.001-04:00

I traveled through Southeast Asia several years ago, a place quite unfamiliar to me. More at home with European cuisine and the idea that good food comes from restaurant kitchens, it didn't take long to see rural markets everywhere that showed a level of food consciousness I could only have dreamt about.

Heritage Breeds. Are They Worth It?

2011-02-24T18:42:00.001-05:00

This past Spring we bought some Buff Orpingtons, a heritage breed of chicken, to be raised by a farmer friend. By choosing from a list of endangered foods our search for tasty local chicken would soon be over. We ran into a few challenges along the way that made us question if our little adventure was worth it.

In May, I received a phone call from our soon-to-be surrogate family farmer. The chicks were do to arrive at the airport (This breed had to be flown in from Alberta.) and i was asked if i could pick them up? It just so happened I was picking up my mother-in-law at the airport at the same time the birds were expected to arrive. So, Evelyn and I jumped into the car and off we went.

Arriving on time, we hurried to get Grammy. "Great to see you!" "Where are your bags?" "We have to pick up some chicks!" She took the news in stride knowing quite well of our efforts with local food and farmers. In fact, she grew up on a farm in South Carolina and tells great stories of grudgingly gathering eggs and her failed attempt to wring a neck. With more experiences on a farm than one can imagine, we were in very good company if things got out of hand.

We drove to another part of the airport and quickly entered a large industrial building to pick up our package. A little unsure of our qualifications, we approached the busy counter. Soon we heard the unmistakable cacophony of high pitched cheeps. I had a huge grin on my face as I carried the white box back to the car. Evelyn held the day olds and squealed several times after the tiny beaks touched her fingers through the holes in the sides. I think everyone but Grammy were dying to take the lid off.

Living in an apartment, our bath tub was where we did the unveiling. Two dozen golden puff balls with tiny legs and black eyes were climbing onto each another, scratching and pecking. Luckily, I found a heat lamp at a local hardware store along with some chick-feed. We put in some fresh newspaper into the box and gave them tiny cups of water. The cheeping was non-stop, beautiful and life affirming. It got louder each time we checked on them, which was often. What a wonderful responsibility to have one afternoon.

A few months later we visited the chicks on the farm. The birds were much larger now and had beautiful copper-colored plumage. Once inside the pen we tried to get closer. Right away, they ran to the other side from where we stood as quick as a breeze through tall grass.

Now, Evelyn is a bit of pigeon chaser. I was trying to photograph the chicken experience and she was in full pigeon mode chasing them from one side of the pen to the other. Watching her running in circles, laughing hysterically and getting out of breath was priceless. I know where the expression "scared as a chicken" comes from as they did everything short of jumping over the fence to get away.

Looking for reassurance, all we heard was, "There's no meat on the birds. They're too skinny!" Starting to have doubts ourselves, we replied, "Just wait, you'll see."

Come September, the inaugural chicken was cooked slowly using a cast iron pan and in the oven on a bed of potatoes, carrots and onions. After an hour and half, or so, it was removed from the pan and allowed to cool. The kale, which we relish this time of year, was added with garlic and cooked in the same pan.

The chicken had a lean earthy flavor that was and quite pleasant, but a little tough. I didn't mind the chewiness at first. But, if we had a guest to dinner would they be as tolerant? Probably not, since it was getting to the point of almost making your jaw tired. Not a lot of breast meat and not a lot on the legs either, but we ate well.

This chicken dinner had been planned for months and as a result, I felt a kinship to the chicken and to the farmer who raised them. Just as many people during the turn of the century grew their own food and were self-reliant. They ate for survival and not so much for comfort. I don't think we are that far away that we can't think about our food in the same vein, now and again.

We are poaching the whole birds, now and are making wonderful stews and soups. We eat more meals with one chicken and the slow cooking them in a broth makes the meat quite tender and the flavors are still delicious. Overall, it has been very rewarding and something for us to look forward to, not only during the summer, but all year round. So great to be closer to the source of our food and participate in the process. Mmmm, what shall we try next?

Boshporus Brulee and Jane's "Killer" Chocolate Cookies

2010-11-05T13:41:00.021-04:00

The first time I tried halva was in Jane's chocolate cookies. A wonderful inspiration to add the sesame seed candy, known throughout the Middle East, Asia and Eastern Europe, to a "killer" chocolate cookie. Being a fan of her cookie, which is closer to a brownie, naturally I became a fan of halva.

Looking for other uses for the, starts crispy and becomes creamy, confection I found a chef adding dark red pomegranate seeds and orange segments to crumbled pistachio havla. The kaleidescope of color could be straight out of an issue Gourmet (my the printed version of the magazine R.I.P). A great recipe, refreshingly tart, sweet and crunchy could win anyone over. My eureka moment was when I tasted baked halva on one of the Princess Islands in Turkey.

The Princess Islands are in the Bosphorus Strait that connects the Black Sea and the Sea of Marmara and are a big weekend attraction for people in and around Istanbul. Motored vehicles are banned on the islands, which is fine. Much can be seen by horse drawn carriages. The views of the water from the top are memorable movie landscapes. One can leasurely go from one island to the other by ferry while sipping a hot chai (Turkish tea) and tossing pieces of simit (Turkish bagel) to the seagulls. Visitors often spend the entire day lounging in restaurants, coffed shops and ice cream parlors listening to the sounds of the clip-clopping horses. During the day the sun is warm and fabulous and you can always count on a cool breeze off the water. Most of the island's inhabitants are carriage drivers and the tourist industry, with the moratorium on automobiles, are offering a another generation of carriage drivers the opportunity to shuttle visitors.

Towards the end of our day, we settled in to watch the sunset over the Bosphorus in a hill-top restaurant. Following wonderful grilled fish with roasted eggplant, came dessert. Still warm from the oven and less sweet than the uncooked, the custard-like baked halva was beyond creamy and even a little smoky-bitter from the welcomed charring on the top.

Something so fabulous must take quite a bit of effort. Not really. Our host tell us by adding a little lemon juice, or orange flower water and kneading the halva into a paste, 10 minutes in a hot oven and you have the closest thing to a creme caramel or creme brulee without the egg and water bath.

There are many versions of halva some semolina flour based, some nut/seed-butter based. They are sweetened and can be based on other interesting ingredients such as: nuts, carrots, squash, beans, lentils, or pumpkins. There are literally dozens of different versions of halva found from Albania to Egypt; Myanmar to India and have been around for eons. (I wonder if Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie flavor will last the test of time.) That reminds me. I need to ask Jane if she would consider changing the name of her cookies to "Killer" Halva Cookies.

Turkish Delight

2010-10-26T20:18:00.003-04:00

I recently had a life changing moment discovering baklava in Istanbul. I was so unsuspectingly blind-sided by this relatively common nut-filled pastry, I simply had to share.

Baklava is a fairly common Eastern Mediterranean dessert mostly associated with Greece, yet it's roots can be found in Turkey. Some have traced it's origins to Topkapi Palace in Istanbul, the original center of the Ottoman Empire. Depending how far back you go, the thin crispy layers of filo may or not be there, but it's always sweetened, often with honey. All of the Baklava I had were filled with nuts, wonderful walnuts, bright green pistachios even hazelnuts and each varied in shapes and sizes and so incredibly crisp and nutty tasting. What they all had in common was that you could eat several, never too sweet and always fresh. (No stale filo here!) In fact we met a Greek man who admitted that Turkish Baklava is better than in Greece. Then again, what is Turkish? and what is Greek? There has been so much cross-over over the years and past generations in this region it is hard to say. And are there really borders when it comes to food traditions?

Realizing how important Baklava is to Turkey I had to do my part and eat dozens and dozens of pieces! Well, stretching it a bit here, but come on, when is the last time you had six pieces of Baklava and didn't regret it?

A Meal to End All Meals (Part 3 Final)

2010-03-27T14:53:00.004-04:00

Following the langostines and lobster came the Deer loin with walnut and chestnut puree. The meat was a dark cherry red and seared rare. The dish was flawlessly executed and well suited to the rich nut puree. I feel, however, it was lacking personality compared to the two over-the-top shellfish courses.

Next, we were served a series of fruit ices, which livened the already elevated spirit. Tall narrow bottomed glasses filled with brightly colored fruit flavors which intensified the further down the glass. Beginning with citrus flavored with hibiscus (a flower that is wonderfully aromatic to the nose and tart to the tongue), and finishing with a blast of black currant at the bottom.

As simple as the savory courses were the desserts followed suit --Plum tart with raisins and honey flavored chocolate and Peach sorbet with tarragon and orange cookie. The plum tart's crumbly crust held the filling well while the bitter chocolate sauce was mellowed by the honey and raisin-like baked plums. Tarragon is like salt, too much can ruin a dish. However, anise with the peach and orange was a welcomed pairing. Of the two, I enjoyed them both and could not pick a favorite.

At this point both Juan Mari and Helena (his daughter) came to the table. I was not shy in offering my compliments in Spanish and immaturely babbled, "Maestros!" We spoke briefly about some restaurants in New York, which they frequent (Le Bernadin and Daniel) and my recent experiences in Madrid. I paid the check. I had my picture taken with them and that was it, the meal was over.

During the long drive back to Madrid, I was trying to decide if this last minute trip was worth it. Had I been in the presence of greatness? Am I now great by association? Several hours later, I started to have a gut feeling and started to make sense. I was beginning to have the familiar pangs of hunger. How could this be? I had just eaten the meal to end all meals.

Let's start at the beginning. The first experience of love was when our mothers fed us for the first time. This shared intimacy is repeated again and again, long after childhood, in a variety of ways. Even though we are often too wrapped up in the daily rigors of life to recognize what we are eating, the care for which it was prepared, or even a little food tradition, we do benefit greatly when we realize any meal can be and celebrated. Whether dinning on multiple courses, or sharing a baguette, we are in the presence of greatness when we eat any meal as if it were the meal to end all meals and share that experience with people who feel the same.

The Meal to End All Meals (Part 2)

2010-03-26T21:10:00.000-04:00

The room was modest in size with soft lighting and eight to ten tables covered in lightly colored linen. The wait-staff were women who wore long vintage dresses that flared out from the waist possibly fashioned over 100 years ago when Juan Mari’s grandfather ran the restaurant. Modifications, such as, automatic sliding glass doors into the kitchen was a comfortable blending of old and new.

Soon, Juan Mari came to the table and asked if we wanted to choose from the menu, or let him create a one for us. We settled on his choices for a progression of seafood to meat. The sommelier picked our wines from local vineyards that were bottled exclusively for the restaurant. I noticed a few of the bottles had Arzak’s name on it. (Why expect anything less?)

The amuse bushes were an overture to the meal to come—first a fried chip topped with marinated raw whitefish. The acidity gave the tongue a refreshing stir and the crispness brought the palate to attention. Next, we enjoyed a small clam on the half shell filled with broccoli puree and toasted almonds. (A combination I have since attempted to recreate, but with no avail.) The orchestra was tuning their instruments.

The first course is a signature dish, which I have seen several years later described in detail on websites and in cookbooks—Langoustines and rice noodles with foie gras mayonnaise. The dish comes in a bowl and the langoustines (large white shrimp with a texture and sweetness reminiscent of lobster), which are buried in the noodles. There are strands of saffron, appropriately garnished within the noodles rounding out the flavors and full mouth feel of the exotic ingredients.

The next course is even more exotic--Lobster with coral oil and macaroni of fresh chives. This dish looked stellar. (It was at this point in the meal that I notice the lighting at the table. The light was directly over my place-setting so the food had a sheen and clarity.) The lobster was sliced into medallions, but still in the shell. There was no indication of the shell being cut. I have no idea how this presentation was achieved. Also, the lobster, as the as the langoustines, were mostly raw. I attributed this to the freshness of the seafood and to the care of preparation for the peak of palatability.

At this point in the meal I was giddy from the food and wine. I realized that everything I had done in my career had prepared me for this moment. All the years of developing my palate, working my own recipes and balancing and harmonizing flavors was being put to use. I was absorbing every nuance of this dining experience. I took a moment to reflect that I was in the north of

Spain

halfway through my first three-starred Michelin meal. (continued Part 3)

The Meal to End All Meals (Part 1)

2010-03-25T11:14:00.000-04:00

Filled with anticipation, and dizzy with disbelief, I embarked upon a culinary adventure to a three-starred Michelin restaurant in northern

Spain

. With only two days left in my trip, and despite comments from my new Spanish friends (who did not think it was worth it), I hopped in rental and headed the north. The route was from Madrid, through the Rioja wine region to San Sebastian. Juan Mari Arzak's self-titled restaurant was the destination and I was in pursuit of the meal to end all meals.

As a chef myself, I traveled to Madrid where I promoted my own countries cuisine. The event was sponsored by the U.S. Department of Agriculture and we were trying to loosen the grip of the corporate chains, which dominate parts of Europe and stereotypical American cuisine. Unsurprisingly, BBQ, milkshakes, and hamburgers seemed to be what the Spaniards were expecting an American chef to prepare. So, I enjoyed putting together a menu of eclectic North American tastes; Bourbon-spiked Pumpkin Soup, Caesar Salad, Seared Ahi Tuna with Spicy Mango Salsa, and couldn’t help it---a New York Strip Steak. The feedback was very positive and the patrons were surprisingly delighted by the time they finished a simple version of Strawberry Shortcake. Now it was my turn to let someone else form lasting my impressions and enjoy someone else’s cooking.

The Restaurant Arzak shares a border with southern of

France

and is steeped in history and cultural tradition. This family operated business is passing into a fourth generation where Juan Mari, and his daughter Helena, have access to the freshest seafood from the Atlantic and Mediterranean, and wonderful seasonal produce from local farms. Juan Mari cemented his place in the food world in the 1970’s by modernizing Basque Cuisine. This revolution in updating tastes of classic Basque cooking was similar to

France

’s Cuisine Minceur around the same time. Like in

France

, the food was lighter and was not marred by heavy flavors and a lot of fat. The ingredients became more exotic and the flavors are left to simply speak for themselves. Basque cooking continues to be an unpretentious way of preparing food to the point of perfection, from the harvest, to its preparation, and most importantly the celebration at the table.

After learning the history of Restaurant Arzak and the Basque Cuisine, I really did not know what to expect. I wondered if eating in a three-starred Michelin restaurant was like viewing Goya at the Prado Museum, or hearing Placido Domingo sing in person? I suspected it would. (continued Part 2)

Cast-Iron: A Matter of Taste

2010-03-21T16:23:00.007-04:00

In many kitchens stainless-steel is everywhere. It's great for sinks, table-tops and refrigerator doors, but for any type of cooking I reach for cast-iron. It conducts heat beautifully, is naturally non-stick and can go from stove-top, to the oven, even the grill with ease.

My love affair started after I was given a couple of my grandmother's cast-iron pans after graduating from Culinary School. They were the size of most common frying pans, jet-black and heavy. For as long as I can remember my mother used similar ones in our home. She was very particular in how there were stored and when they were used.

As a new hotel cook, it was during preparations for my first restaurant wine dinner that I saw my new favorite cookware used outside a home kitchen. I followed Rick, one of the senior cooks, downstairs through the back hallways and went digging in a cavernous storeroom, moving boxes and unsettling new stock pots, supplies of silverware, serving trays and finally unearthed two of the biggest cast-iron pans I had ever seen! They must have been 24 inches in diameter, each with short stubby handles needing two hands to carry. He wanted to use them for the second course, which we were teamed up together to prepare: Hudson Valley Foie Gras with Braised Apple and Cider Gastrique.

Before it was time to sear off the 50 plus portions of duck liver, he placed the pans on the flat-top (the top of a gas stove with no flame-burners, just a large flat piece of iron) to pre-heat. Then adding several tablespoons of oil and a couple of handfuls of salt they began to heat up and smoke from the oil. After a few minutes he pulled them off of the stove top, wiping them thoroughly with a thick kitchen towel. (The seasoning, or treatment to the pans left them shiny and dark. The salt acted as an abrasive while the heat opened the pores of the metal for the oil to penetrate, leaving a slick surface.)

While the first course was being presented, it was time for us to hustle. The duck liver looked like peach colored butter. Each piece was scored (shallow cuts into one side resembling a tic-tac-toe board that allowed for less shrinkage while cooking) then seasoned with salt and freshly cracked pepper. As they were placed in batches into the hot pans they slowly they started to smoke and the fat began to render leaving us smelling the sweet, nutty, muskiness found only when cooking foie gras. After turning a dark golden copper color they were flipped. A little longer they were removed, still raw in the middle, soft and warm. The remaining fat from the pans was poured out, for a future use, and a quick wipe of the towel for the second and third batches. Quite effortless.

Years later, after rummaging through yard sales and antique stores I would equip my entire restaurant kitchen with cast-iron pans, close to four dozen. (Small ones to cook a single egg, to the large dutch ovens for deep frying and everything in between.) We had some of the strogest forearms in the business and always nice to know the roots of grandma's cooking were never far off.

THE LAMB THAT COULDN'T GET AWAY

2010-03-08T08:44:00.017-05:00

(c)Edmund Rek/Rekfotos

Of the innumerable dinner parties that happen throughout the city, I recently took part in a remarkable one. We were brought together this particular evening to share in the bounty of local food in a newly renovated kitchen.

One could easily tell the young couple hosting the dinner are foodies by their massive cookbook collection and the big red leather sofa in the kitchen. However, the bone of contention with one half of the pair was the big red sofa in the kitchen. So, how does one design a kitchen around a large sofa in the kitchen? By replacing it with bar stools and a seven-foot granite-top island.

As with most home renovations this one went past due and the couple suffered almost two months without cooking in their kitchen. Finally, the day came and within an hour after the contractor left, guests were arriving for their first dinner party.

The new kitchen was met with cheers over anti-slamming drawers, a water spigot over the stove top (tested curiously without out a pot underneath) and nods of approval over the two full-sized ovens. The “star” of the evening, though, was the local grass-fed leg of lamb from Twin Creeks Organic Farm.

Not surprisingly, the guests arrived early, jumping in to help peel potatoes, wash the lettuce, or anything in this spanking brand-new kitchen. When I arrived, the potatoes were being sliced for an au gratin, drinks were being poured and the lamb was locked in the oven. No kidding!

One of the two ovens had a locking feature. One would think no big deal. A couple of buttons were pushed by mistake, so press a few to fix it. Not the case. After a little wine and some Niagara prosciutto, the final couple arrived. With the clinking of freshly poured wine glasses out came the oven's user manual, but with no avail. After trying Google with no results, we decided to go old school and flip fuses in the basement. People continued stirring and chopping as the lights went off and on a few times and then... at last! The oven reset itself. The door was unlocked and the main course was freed and put into the second oven (without the locking feature) to finish cooking.

The dinner preparations progressed fabulously. The herbed crust was added to the lamb and toasted under the new infrared broiler. The potatoes were topped with extra reggiano cheese and also browned. A salad dressing was made and tossed with tender greens. Lastly, the Empire apple tart was in a holding pattern waiting to go into the less greedy oven.

All with high-accomplished spirits we found seats around the table amidst the myriad of paint cans and stacks of drywall. It was truly an amazing meal. People and coming together united in a common appreciation for local food and the desire to pitch and overcome any obstacles that got in the way of a true celebration of farm, to renovated kitchen, to table. (Even without "Big Red!")

Bacalao Pil Pil

2010-03-04T09:07:00.009-05:00

(google Image)

While visiting Spain around the time of the writing "A Meal To End All Meals" (see post July/August 2009), I witnessed the making of a truly incredible meal. It didn't require much: a cazuela, or shallow round ceramic dish (the size of a small dinner plate) with sides, olive oil and a piece of salt cod. The tricky part was preparing the dish and that is why a small group of young cooks gathered to watch one of their own attempt to make Bacalao Pil Pil.

Bacalao, or salt cod, is a staple in many parts of the Mediterranean, parts of Canada and Iceland. Once preserved, the cod has a pleasant fish smell and a texture reminiscent of dry white leather. Typically, a fillet of even thickness throughout is best, as the thinner pieces towards the tail tend to be bit tough and can be dry.

The Pil Pil comes from the gentle bubbling sound and spattering of the oil as the cod cooks.

The Intercontinental in Madrid is where I saw this dish being made. It resembled most hotel kitchens with floor to ceiling stainless steel, oversized stock pots, multiple ovens, hanging pans, colorful dried spices and really big cans of tomatoes, olive oil and beans, not to mention dozens of cooks in white chef coats carrying boxes of produce, chopping vegetables and butchering meat. The Executive Chef, wearing the tallest toque, seemed to always be sitting in a small office made of glass walls in the center of the kitchen, able to see everything.

What stood out to me was the large brown tobacco colored wooden doors of each walk-in refrigerator. Unlike most North American kitchens, European ones are steeped in culinary traditions. (I literally felt it oozing through these old doors.) The first one opened into a narrow hallway where the Serrano hams and sausages were stored, along with the salt cod. Cooler than room temperature, it's an ideal place to re-hydrate the fish, which typically takes up to three days changing the water often. (The other doors within the chilled hallway lead to the cold storage for fish, vegetables, dairy and meat, all kept at the standard refrigerator temperatures.)

One day after lunch service, typically a down time in most restaurants, I noticed a piece of salt cod in a clay colored dish on the stove top cooking very slowly. It was resting in olive oil, not quite submerged, with a couple of peppercorns, a small bay leaf and a few small pieces of carrot cut lengthwise.  The dish was removed from the heat and the oil and the aromatics were taken out of the cazuela, leaving the fish behind. Soon crowd of cooks huddled around to watch the preparing of the Bacalao Pil Pil. Two people had to work in tandem like Mozart's piano concerto for four hands, but with a less appreciative and quite vocal audience, "You can't do it. Not too, fast!" (A similar balancing act to making mayonnaise and how much oil to pour in and how quickly to whisk.  There is a beauty to the process finding the perfect rhythm.)

Cook (1) slowly pours the oil back into the flat-bottom dish containing the cod while cook (2) moves it in rhythmic circular motions so the fish agitates in small circles without touching the sides. Just enough motion to emulsify the oil and the fabulous fish fume. Losing concentration for a split second can ruin everything. The fish is delicate and can break into pieces, not to mention the fish's natural gelatin is the only emulsifier for the oil. The group was a waiting for a culinary train wreck. (I think secretly hoping for it's success.)

Several minutes go by with a more playful banter. A passerby would think a dice game was being played in the middle of the huddled bodies. With similar odds and much left to chance, cooks pulled it off. The dish was passed around, all had a taste. It was simply fabulous!   The flavors just belonged.

I was left asking questions that no one had answers to. Where did Bacalao Pil Pil originate? When was it first prepared? How was the preparation passed down?  Maybe it is better not to know. Who is to say, really? I could imagine however, with a small group of fisherman huddled near a campfire on a dark beach after a long day of fishing, swirling cazuelas and drizzling olive oil, drinking wine and passing pieces of bread.   Maybe they tried it again the next night. What if the experience turned into tradition and the tradition into a story, told over, and over again?  Inspiring the dish to be made over, and over again?

How great would it be to make a meal that turns into a tradition? When will our next meal tradition begin? I would hate to think there aren't any left.

Broken Tricycle Gathers Leaves and Thoughts of Pumpkins

2009-11-17T23:54:00.089-05:00

Tuesday, a little after 3pm Evelyn and I headed over to nearby Dufferin Grove. She was riding an old discarded red tricycle we found with a squeaky front wheel that doesn't pedal so well. We were going to the farmers market to see what lovely fall vegetables we could find.

It was brisk, yet mild for November. Soon, the afternoon light will trun grey and darken, bringing old man winter. Making this outdoor journey so sweet.

Evelyn insisted on taking her red tricycle not so insistent on wearing her hat, or mittens. (we decided to just go with it.) Starting only a few blocks aways, we slowly meandered down the sidewalk to the sandy path, pass the fabulous playground and through the trees towards the rink-house, the area reserved for the market.

The fenced-in basketball-court-in-the-summer/hockey-rink-in-the-winter, hosts the two dozen farmers and food artisans every thurday afternoon. But today it lacked the usual large white canopies and the small crowds of locavores gathered around tables piled high of colorful beets and mountains of kale. In fact, it was deserted except for a couple of school kids playing nearby. Coming closer still, I saw patches of ice starting to form from puddles in areas inside the empty ice-rink and as slow as the ice was forming, I realized the farmers market is on Thursday, two days from now.

Needless to say, Evelyn did very little biking and having carried Evelyn and the bike most of the way, quite tired I was not looking forward to turning around and going back. Now being a quick thinking dad, I took off my wide brown belt, tied it to the handlebars and began pulling her back home along the path in the park. Not as easy as it sounds. She insisted on dragging her feet, gathering a small mountain of fallen leaves beneath her bike. There were leaves everywhere and she was having a blast giggling and and saying, "Do it again!" We could only go a few feet before she had to get off the bike so we would clear the leaves out from under and begin again. She kept steering off the path into the grass to do this. Ugh!

Realizing there was no rushing back, I coundn't help fully embracing the change if season surrounded by such tall trees and open space . Almost all of the leaves have fallen and they are now dried and crispy, no longer the kaleidoscope of colors, mostly toasty and brown. The air cool and damp full of earthy smells. Maybe it was going home empty-handed and expecting to stock up on fall vegetables from the market, but all I could think about was squash.

Their sweet moist smell can be intoxicating as they roast in the oven. Cut in half, rubbed with butter and salt, maybe a little sugar, cooked flesh side down seeds removed. (Seeds cleaned and free of pulp can be roasted later and used to garnish squash soup or as nibbles.) Don't worry if there is browning as the squash cooks this is a good thing and adds flavor. When soft, scoop out the squash and put in food processor adding butter and maple syrup to the consistency of mashed potatoes great with venison, squab and duck. (Note: if squash is not dry enough, place on sheet tray in a medium oven to evapoate some of the moisture. It should not drip, or be too hot before you put in the processor.) use th pulp in soup. The best squash soup has lots of onions and garlic, finished with a shot of bourbon. Or a couple of waning moon shapes simply roasted and drizzled with sweet soy sauce. For pumpkin pie, or pumpkin brulee, it is a carnal sin to used the canned. Hope Eco Farms in Aylmer has some of the finest squashes. (They can be found at their farm, Fiesta Farms, Healthy Butcher and most local farmers markets.)

Do avoid Butternut squash, my least favorite. It must be something about "butter" in the name that makes it sound nicer than it really is. It's an insanely popular squash, though very high in moisture compared to other squashes: Kabocha, Sweet Dumpling, Hubbard and Buttercup are my faves. Remember less moisture, more flavor!

The Chefs' Market at the Brick Works

2009-07-22T10:18:00.012-04:00

As a chef, loyal and dedicated to the long hours and often stoked at the miracles one can achieve getting out of the "weeds" (a term used to describe being buried with orders/tickets, or behind in kitchen prep), I recently found myself on my hands and knees in another type of weeds, organically grown, in an onion field near Grand Bend, Ontario.

I was in awe in the efforts undertaken to grow 250 acres of onions and soybeans weeded by hand and non-chemically, much by trial and error and guided simply by the dedication to the purity of the process. I hadn’t realized the disconnect between the efforts of to grow our food and even a bigger gap of what it takes to grow organically and sustainable. Cooking professionally never taught me this, ten minutes on a farm did.

Many of the difficult steps a chef chooses to take are not easy to explain either. Why do they make a consommé when any soup will do? Does it really matter? Or does the person ordering the risotto care if you sweat, or caramelize the onions? Chances are they won't. But for the chef, as I imagine the farmer, it does make a difference. When our, sometimes, fanatical efforts fall in line with the best-case-scenario we do get closer to the perfect harvest, or the finest consommé, risotto, or just about anything. And to be able to share in the recognition by passing the spoon, or the fruit from the vine, and say, "Taste this!" this is a golden moment.

Both chefs and farmers have this Zen experience all the time and whether they realize it or not, are of the same breed. The ones that do, oftentimes the bonds are so close that the farmers want to have restaurants and the chefs want to grow their own food.

Last year, there was a partnering between the Greenbelt Foundation and Evergreen to support local farmers. Working with the vision of Toronto chefs to have their own farmers market at the Brick Works, the Chefs' Market was born. This market is as much about commerce as it is about building committed ties between local farmers and a network of local food buyers. Being the Chefs' Market Manager has shown me that there isn't a harder working, passionate group of people who have so much in common. For those interested in forming more relationships to better understand of how important the roles each one plays, this is your market. No weeds attached.

In a Reverence for Food

2009-06-28T22:39:00.025-04:00

(c)Edmund Rek/Rekfotos

My first job was in a restaurant. I was fifteen years old and I have cooked in almost every type of restaurant since and now after stepping out of the kitchen, after twenty five years, I am understanding how delicate how delicate our food system really is.

The early 90's found me cooking in hotels and high-profile restaurants mostly in the US, some in Europe. This experience exposed me to the rigors of the kitchen hierarchy and many exotic ingredients from far away places. It was a life-altering experience, which very often demonstrated the rewards of adding value all along the cooking process, however, left me wanting to be closer to the source of local food. So, it was no surprise to me that I ended up opening a farm-to-table restaurant in Philadelphia, in 2005. It was liberating for me to speak with farmers directly and re-write menus daily with what was available, forcing me to simplify my approach to food and let it speak for itself and it didn't go unnoticed. There were more compliments on the local organic chicken than the dishes with truffle and foie gras.

Years later and moving to Toronto from the U.S. on faith and following, (of my wife's love for the city) I was very pleased to find well-supported farmers market community. Soon thereafter, we started a local cracker company naming it after our daughter Evelyn. The crackers are handcrafted with locally grown and milled heritage organic grains, Red Fife in particular. We started selling Evelyn's Crackers at: Riverdale, Trinity Bellwoods and the Brickworks farmers markets. Needless to say, the crackers have really taken off now available in the farmers market and several retail stores all year round.

Now, being a chef and a vendor has guided my role as the coordinator of Toronto's new bulk buying farmers market catering to chefs and retailers, the Chefs' Market. As the person responsible for sourcing both buyers and vendors for this market, I feel I have a unique opportunity to raise the awareness and the importance of supporting local farmers and sourcing your food.

Food can link people in many ways: social, cultural and spiritual, however, the chef and farmer have the strongest connection. Chefs support farmers financially and at the same time have the ability to reach out to the public with menu specials, cooking instruction and gala events. The relationship between the chef and farmer is special; they provide for each other working in tandem. Oftentimes, the bonds are so close, farmers want to have restaurants and chefs want to own farms. I am realizing there isn't a harder working, more passionately dedicated group of people that have so much in common. It would be great for more relationships to foster an understanding of how important the roles of each one plays.

To complete the circle of awareness the public needs to know where our food comes from and start making choices to participate in the process. We expect food to be cheap, but forget it takes a heck of a lot of nurturing to grow something. It takes time and effort, much of which we don't always see. We know milk comes from cows, but forget how they look up close, smell and sound; and we don't always know the respect and trust required to milk one.

Being closer to the source of our food is key to understanding where our food comes from and benefited by having an active roll in it. I encourage Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) programs and buying from farmers markets, but there is something about seeing the food in the ground at the farm, or working alongside the farmer that really makes the difference for me. Wouldn't it be great if we searched out farms to feed us like we do with universities to send our children to?