The Fabulous Life of Binky Silhouette

Binky has moved...

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Sun, 22 Apr 2012 13:26:00 +0000

And is blogging again at http://www.suziedwards.wordpress.com

Please come and see me.

Milk Tiger Lounge, Calgary

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Sun, 17 May 2009 05:43:00 +0000

Milk Tiger Lounge
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

I've found a new favorite bar. It got off to a shaky start, but the meatballs with spaghetti on a stick brought me back.

I love anything on a stick. They even serve cheese wrapped in ham on a stick. What's not to like? I *heart* this place.

I love the 2oz pours and the "stick to the classics cocktail list." I love the fact that there's a tag rather than a sign outside. The eclectic music that makes me dance like Snoopy (or for Andree to do the running man). The doorman was reading "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies" tonight. They know what I drink (a perfect Manhattan, in case you didn't know) and they serve the best freakin' waffles in the world.

Yeah. Waffles. With chocolate or vanilla ice cream, and maple syrup.

So tonight, we went for dinner at the Canadian Danish Club. And I happened to mention the waffles. And there was an unspoken moment of affinity across the table. We were going to eat the herring, and the salmon, and the shrimp tower, and drink the Riesling, and go and have waffles. It passed in a moment, like when you know you're going to kiss, or push that friend off a cliff in case they rat you out for the bacchanal you just had.

There's a prize if you name the novel I'm referencing. It will involve waffles and a Manhattan at Milk Tiger Lounge.

Milk Tiger Lounge is at 1410 4th Street SW, Calgary. Call (403) 261-5009. It's open until 2am, Tuesday through Sunday (edit: I didn't know the days of the week. Never blog when you've just got home from this place). It tends not to get busy until 10.30pm, so it's a great place for an early drink if you like to hear your date speak. But nothing beats a midnight waffle.

Sushi Man, Calgary

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Mon, 11 May 2009 04:27:00 +0000

Sushi Man: Tempura Shrimp
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

I'm still searching for truly sensational sushi in Calgary, but if my first visit is anything to go by, there might be some good stuff at Sushi Man.

I was in a noodle mood; feeling a bit peaky and not having been to the Farmer's Market for a while, I didn't have any stock at home, so couldn't make my own. I'd noticed this place a few times, and decided to give it a try.

The service was great; prompt and polite and the decor is much nicer than the outside suggests it's going to be. This looks like a real hole in the wall as you walk past, but actually it's quite fresh and Japanese modern inside.

The tempura shrimp (pictured) were light, not greasy at all, and if they didn't contain about a squillion calories, I'd eat them every time I visit. Even better was a steaming bowl of beef rib udon noodles, all slithery, slightly firm to the bite and with a savory, umami-rich broth. The beef ribs were a little tough, but the noodles and broth made up for it.

I wasn't really in a sushi mood, but tried a single scallop nigiri, which, while not the best I've ever had, was very fresh. The rice was especially good, slightly warm, moist and seasoned well. Possibly the best sushi rice I've had in Calgary.

It's on one of my many routes for the walk home, so early indications suggest that this could become a regular haunt.

Sushi Man is at Bromley Square, 1004 1 Street SW Calgary. Call 403 205-3232.

Punk Rock Bingo, Broken City, Calgary

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Sun, 03 May 2009 02:56:00 +0000

Beer + Bingo + Wings = World Class Night Out
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

If there's a better night out, and I don't just mean in Calgary, then I want to know about it. There's great salt and pepper wings, the rockingest DJs this side of your favourite scrut-bag nightclub and...bingo.

But as Steve, our host for the evening, says, this is not the kind of bingo you'd bring your grandma to.

With prize ranging from machetes to sex toys to tattooing at Bushido, it's enough to make your maiden aunt blush. From cries of "fuck yeah" as we get started (or whenever Steve feels like it) to a paddle to the ass for a erroneous call (a "bullshit bingo"), this is a decidedly R-rated night out.

But a belt for the RPS champion, great music and a general joy in perverting the usual bingo shenanigans, means that Punk Rock Bingo gets a thumbs up from me.

Improvements? I used to love the bingo calls when I went to the Mecca bingo with my nan. Clickety Click? Sixty Six. Dancing Queen? Seventeen. Let's punk rock them up a bit. Sham! 69. Two Fat Johnny Rottens? 22. Year Punk was born? 74.

As long as no-one start spitting, I'll keep going.

Punk Rock Bingo is at Broken City Calgary. 613 - 11th Ave. S.W. (403) 262-9976

Manresa, Los Gatos, California

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 04:13:00 +0000

Manresa: Parmesan Churros
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

I'm a lazy blogger by nature. I lack discipline, and hence get around to writing about 5% of the food I eat. My laziness will bite me on the bum at times, and I realise that I haven't captured my thoughts about some sensational meal or other.

My 2006 trip to California is one of those trips I was really lazy about. My laziness is somewhat specific. I don't think anything of flying 9000km to eat dinner, I just rarely get around to writing about it. But in May 2006, I organised a trip around two meals at Manresa, in Los Gatos. One night a dinner for eight with some foodie friends from an online discussion forum, with poulet demi-deuil (chicken in half mourning, with truffles stuffed under the skin) as the centre-piece, and then a solo tasting menu the following night, just for me.

The trip, and meals, were sensational, marred only by the fact that my wardrobe smelled of cheese for the entire trip, as I'd smuggled two truckles of unpasturised Montgomery Cheddar into the country for some friends.

Manresa has gone from strength to strength since my last visits and I was excited to see what Chef Kinch was doing now. What would Two Michelin stars, a recent James Beard nomination for Best Chef: Pacific, and a mauling of Bobby Flay on Iron Chef have done to one of my favourite restaurants? Most excitingly, a partnership with Love Apple Farm means that diners get to eat the most amazing seasonal, mainly bio-dynamic vegetables.

The restaurant is tucked away in a little street in Los Gatos, and I was having massive shivers of excitement as we sat down to our glasses of champagne. Of course we were letting David cook for us, and we quickly decided to have both the premium wine tasting and the standard one. For comparative purposes. I will admit to some significant wine envy at Chris' "premium" pours, but it was great to contrast both selections. And the sommelier was kind enough to bring me a larger pour of one or two of the wines I especially loved.

The food was...unique and delicious and I lack the writing skills and superlatives to really do it all justice. We left, giddy and swinging jars of Pim's marmalade, which is available from the restaurant if the online shop has sold out.

Highlights for me? The parmesan churros (pictured), a signature dish, which seemed more refined than on my previous trip. The deep fried kale contrasted with the cheesy richness, and if you think there's anything more delicious than a deep-fried cheese flavoured doughnut, you'd better get along to Manresa. Because this is a meal that starts with amazing little nibbles like this, and the famous Arpege egg, and the olive madelines, and just keeps raising your taste buds a notch higher, a notch further into ecstasy, as the meal progresses.

Everything is finely balanced, beautiful and whacks a massive punch. I've had too many three star meals that are all about pretty refinement, and what differentiates Manresa is the all-out deliciousness of it all. One dish still stands out for me. Called "Tidal Pool", it takes abalone, sea urchin and slivers of foie gras, served in a dashi broth. Perfect balance, perfect broth and the foie/seafood mix was an inspired pairing.

Vegetables play a huge role in the Manresa experience, nowhere more so than a dish entitled "Into the Garden", a composed warm salad that Kinch wants to be "as if we had held a mirror up to the garden and it showed an edible reflection." The plate is beautiful, with shoots and flowers and a perfect piece of potato, with a "dirt" made of roasted chicory root and dried potato. Follow the hyperlink to read Chef Kinch on the evolution of the dish.

It's not all about the veggies though. Our centre-piece was lamb, served with ramps, that they kindly showed us before it was portioned out. To be honest, they could have just left it on the table, whole, and Chris and I would have happily carved. I am a huge fan of lamb and this was perfect, even though the proteins are slightly overshadowed by the vegetables at Manresa. We're still trying to work out how they kept it so rare while we ate the intervening courses (which included a sensational roast kid goat dish, with curds and whey), and did wonder if we'd been shown a stunt lamb. Or perhaps a lamb leg body double? If it was good enough for Julia Roberts on the Pretty Woman poster, it's good enough for me though...

Any wrong notes? Bananas for desert, which as we all know, need to be banished from our plates, but otherwise, a perfect meal. I need to make sure it's not three years before I go back. I am prone to hyperbole, but if there is a more enchanting restaurant in America, I want to go there next weekend.

Things went from the sublime to the ridiculous after dinner and we ended up drinking Kamikazes at Black Watch ($8 for a pint. Bit like drinking battery acid), dancing at Mountain Charlies (when did people stop dancing face to face?) and a three am raid on the mini bar in the Hotel Los Gatos (great, and they were very nice about the red wine stains).

I want to organise another trip to Manresa, perhaps in August. Who's in?

Manresa is at 320 Village Lane, Los Gatos, California. Call (408) 354-4330 for reservations.
Hotel Los Gatos is at 210 E Main St, Los Gatos, California. Call (408) 335-1700 for reservations.

The Slanted Door, San Francisco

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 01:27:00 +0000

Slanted Door: Beef Pho
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

The Slanted Door...so good I went back the next day.

Vietnamese food is one of my favorites, and I was spoiled in both London and Sydney. San Franciscans are also spoiled, with this modern Vietnamese restaurant that showcases a lot of the very delicious artisan produce that California has to offer.

Originally opened in 1995, the Slanted Door moved from its original home on Valencia, to a spot inside the Ferry Building overlooking the beautiful SF Bay. The menu is extensive, with around ten different sections, from Raw Bar to Rice. The restaurant is expansive, but the bar area is a boon for single travellers looking for a place to park their derrieres.

I was spoiled for choice, so I started with a lillet blanc, while I decided what to eat. Everything seemed to be shouting out to me "pick me, pick me" and the only way I could have tasted everything I wanted, would have been to have had about 20 friends with me. So to begin, some wood oven roasted Manila clams with chilies and crispy pork belly, followed by some imperial rolls with shrimp and pork, and the most incredible dipping sauce and then some kick-ass shrimp with roasted pineapple and garlic (breaking my usual moratorium on sweet with savoury). Everything was sparklingly fresh, served with plenty of zip and incredibly well balanced. Apart from the huge amount I had ordered.

I still felt I hadn't done justice to the Slanted Door; I'd barely scratched the surface of the appetizers. So I went back for lunch the next day. The pho (pictured), came with a beautiful selection of fresh herbs, amazing, raw Prather Ranch beef and a deeply-flavoured broth. But this was firmly upstaged by the Vietnamese sausage with oysters. I love meat with oysters, and this was the best combination of the two I have ever eaten. Musky, spicy sausage patties, with a side of teeny little Kusshi oysters from BC (yay, go Canadia). The oysters had each been sprinkled with a little tobiko, a little chili, a little citrus and fish sauce. Nothing to overpower them, just a little decoration to help them stand up to the sausage.

If I hadn't eaten at Manresa two days before, it would have been the most delicious thing I'd eaten all year.

Slanted Door is at 1 Ferry Building, #3. Call 415 861 8032 for reservations.

Antony and the Johnsons and Fleur De Lys, San Francisco

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 18:45:00 +0000

Life Is Good
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

In spite of what the content on this blog may suggest, there’s something that I love even more than food. And that’s music. I just never get around to writing about music. That's about to change...

Tuesday night saw the real reason for my trip to San Francisco, the Antony and the Johnson’s gig at the Nob Hill Masonic Centre. It was all shaping up to be a perfect Binky evening, with dinner beforehand at Fleur De Lys, although I wasn’t looking forward to walking up California in those heels.

I’ve written before about how I think I am over fine dining, and then somewhere will be recommended and I go back, like a dog returning to its own vomit. As I get older (or is it wiser? I’m never sure) I become sure that life is about what’s true and pure and beautiful. I don’t find a lot of restaurants that are any of these things, but I keep finding music that highlights all of the fan-tab-u-lous things in life.

So Tuesday was a a night of two halves. First up, a meal that contained very little truth or beauty. Just perfectly fine ingredients with lots of fuss and zhuzh. The menu read very well, with lots of things I thought I might like to eat, but I’d been called “madam” twice within five minutes of arriving and was getting really pissed off. When did I tip? There was a time when “miss” and “madame” ran concurrently, one pulling in front of the other depending on how recently I’d had a facial. But I no longer ever get a “miss”. It’s madame all the way. Waiters of the world, if a single lady is…actually, forget the single and forget the age. Just call me miss.

First out, an amuse of chestnut mousse with a slightly suspicious texture and little flavour. My starter, a sort of mega-mix of a lot of signature dishes entitled "Symphony of...", had got me all excited, because I love eating a miniature of anything, but it was all so dull, so soulless, that the most exciting thing on the plate was the salad with a nice bitey dressing. The centerpiece, a fondant of choucroute with caviar was notable for being the only time I have seen a use for a single sprout leaf (as the receptacle for the caviar). It was like the Borrowers were at the pass, doing the garnishing. Then a quail, boned out and stuffed with ris de veau, spinach and pine nuts, which was just dull. A cheese plate followed. I was glad I hadn’t ordered a desert. The visual highlight of the evening was my friend’s lamb, two medallions, which were garnished with two tiny pearls of carrot. They reminded me of teenage breasts with very perky nipples.

Which gives me a suitable juncture to tell you about Antony Hegarty. Six foot five, identifies as transgendered, Antony has one of those voices that has everyone reaching for the superlatives. His is a queer voice, different, non-normative, that fills your soul and has you humming lyrics about cutting off your breasts.

Antony’s music is challenging; he celebrates the emotional and often physical violence of relationships with lyrics like “It’s true that I always wanted love to be hurtful. And it’s true I always wanted love to be filled with pain and bruises” (from The Cripple and the Starfish.). It’s transformative, alternately hopeful and hopeless and about the flux of life “Still have too many dreams. Never seen the light. I need another world. A place where I can go.”(from Another World). It’s ambiguous; one minute he talks about being a girl, a sister and at other times he is a boy. It’s never clear if Antony is speaking about himself, a persona or perhaps even you. Judging by the crowd and the tears at the Nob Hill Masonic Centre, many people find their own truth in his music.

Given his roots in drag and performance art, it’s at first surprising to realise that he’s going to sit at his piano, with his chamber pop orchestra and sing. No visuals, just clever lighting that ebbs and flows along with the intensity of the music and the odd fluttering hand gesture. His voice is as powerful live as recorded, all the more astonishing for realizing that this glorious noise is coming from another human being. The set contained songs from all of his recordings, all subtly rearranged. So “Fistful of Love”, without the heating up from the scorching horns on the album version, is stripped down and more evidently about a lover celebrating his bruises. During tonight’s performance it was so tightly wound, without the release of the album version, like waiting for a punch to the face that doesn’t come. At the end I realized I had stopped breathing.

Antony has a unique way with covers, and while I don’t want him to become the new Cat Power, his version of Beyonce’s “Crazy In Love” removes the sassy, splashy sounds (and Jay-Z, thank god) and concentrates on the “crazy” rather than the "in love". It’s twitchy, itchy and in spite of getting a laugh when he sings “got me hoping you’ll page me right now”, perfectly outlines his talent to find truth and beauty in the oddest of places.

The whole tour is sold out, so I can't tell you go and get tickets. You can listen to him sing Crazy in Love though http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8K9pzjarqQo

Bistro, Faena Hotel+Universe, Buenos Aires

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 17:07:00 +0000

Bistro, Faena Hotel. White Salmon
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

The Faena's not just a hotel, it's an actual Universe, which made me all the more itchy to go. The entirety of space and time and a concierge? I wondered if they'd have a swim up bar with pockets of dark matter. What more could girl ask for?

Well, quite a lot, actually. I like a posh hotel as much as the next person (assuming that next person is not Paris Hilton) but the Faena just didn't do it for me. Designed by Phillipe Stark, you could be in any of his hotels, it's so identikit bonkers. Themed as a bordello, all red and black drapes, it is totally over the top and completely soulless.

We stopped for a drink in the bar before our dinner reservation, but the music was so loud and the lighting so low that we realised communication would be impossible, so we moved through to the restaurant. Having been greeted at the door by possibly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen (who job was simply to say hello as you walked into the restaurant), while wearing a floor length red ball gown and displaying skin like creme brulee, we entered Le Bistro. It's quite a shock, after all of that red and black and velvet drapery, to walk into a room that's almost entirely white. A bit like walking into a sanitarium.

The room has rows of unicorn heads with vivid red eyes stating down at you. Possibly the biggest floral display I have ever seen. White Louis XVI style chairs surround the tables, while white leather studded banquettes line the walls. It's truly breathtaking and truly awful.

The food? Everyone's had their panties in a bunch because the Chef used to work at El Bulli, and so there's going to be a lot of *technique*. This became apparent from our amuse bouche, a deconstructed tortilla, which had the texture of partially-hydrogenated liquid styrofoam and a slight flavour of potato. Tortilla is one of my favorite things. Such alchemy that something as simple as potato, eggs, onion, salt and oil can come together and be so delicious. Here, the chef may have the technology and the desire to innovate, but some things were perfect before you got your pacojet on them.

There were some good things; my white salmon was a fab bit of fish, and they have got their hands on some good ingredients. But someone really needs to issue a restaurant edict to stop Chefs striping their plates with sauces. Especially when those sauces are brown or black. Just not pretty.

The bill was, of course, astronomical. I don't believe that cost should ever be a measure when you're talking about food. Unless you're paying hundreds of dollars for food that simply doesn't have a soul.

http://www.faenahotelanduniverse.com/

Don't Cry for Me Argentina, Part Five

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Sun, 04 Jan 2009 17:03:00 +0000

View from the Final Leg of the Journey
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

I wish I could say it was all plain sailing from then on.

Things seemed to be falling into place and the flight from Vancouver to LA was all on time and I had the good news that I was on standby for a business class upgrade to Washington. The room service club sandwich and half bottle of champagne that I toasted my (belated) birthday with were well deserved and the king size bed with six pillows and very, very soft, high thread-count sheets gave me the best nights sleep I think I’ve ever had.

A six am automated flight update message from United was the first indication that things might not run smoothly. We’d booked the flight with a five and half layover in Washington, because it was Christmas Eve and we were expecting delays. I truly never believed that there would be a chance I could miss the flight from Washington to Buenos Aires. But as United called every 15 minutes, adding an extra 30 minutes delay to my departure time from LAX, that five and a half window was disappearing. Eventually it happened. My flight was so delayed there was no way I could make the connecting flight.

I had my first gin and tonic at 12.04 and continued with an hourly topical application until I fell asleep. United put me on stand-by for another flight to Washington that wasn’t showing a delay and which would give me 25 minutes to get to the gate for the flight to BA. I was number two (of 28) on the standby list. The flight was showing 14 spare seats. Then 10. Then seven. And then two. Where it remained, for the next 30 minutes as I obliterated my manicure. They asked if any passengers might like compensation to take a later flight. Each area boarded. They closed the flight. I was still standing at the gate, like the runt of the litter waiting to be picked. Finally; “Will passengers Goncalves and Edwards please come to the podium.” They shut the door after me and started to taxi a picosecond later.

I’m still trying to work out what the lesson of all of this is. At first I was saying that the universe didn’t want me to go to Buenos Aires; that it was keeping me away for a reason. That something bad would happen if I went. I have never been as nervous as I was when waiting for that standby flight to Washington, and this is from a woman who can be as neurotic as a champion Weimaramer on the morning of Crufts. The hope that I felt when I thought I saw my passport in a snowdrift outside of the office was overwhelming, as was the disappointment when it turned out it was a piece of ice.

I called a friend for some advice and talked through the Universe is against me theory. He asked if perhaps the Universe wasn’t just throwing some challenges for me to sashay over, which I thought was a superb way of looking at it. I don’t want to end this with some sort of “Little House on the Prairie” homily, but the whole thing has changed my world view. Now, can you go and check that you know where your passport is?

Normal food blogging service will resume shortly.

Don't Cry for Me Argentina, Part Four

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Fri, 02 Jan 2009 22:06:00 +0000

First Real Snow of the Calgary Winter
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

There were many people who wouldn’t usually take a Greyhound at the bus station. The canceled flights meant that a lot of people, who would prefer not to be stranded in Calgary for Christmas, were seeking alternative means of transportation.

You could see who had taken the bus before. They had bags of food, blankets, many layers of warm clothing and pillows. Me? A tube of Nicorette lozenges and my iPod. You see, I’d been hoodwinked by the Greyhound website, with its talk of reclining seats, heating, entertainment and refreshments.

What followed was the most uncomfortable 16.5 hours of my life. The coach alternated between freezing cold and the burning pit of Gehenna. My seat didn’t recline properly, or much at all to be honest, and there was no entertainment other than the stories of the woman in front of me, who was travelling from Winnipeg to Vancouver, on the Greyhound, entirely of her own volition. For the second time this year. I finally managed to fall asleep, but was shaken ruthlessly awake at Kamloops because we had to change coaches. Finally, I knew what it felt like to be a veal calf in the 1980s, being crated across Europe. Although I am not sure a veal calf was ever as depressed as I was as I realized the new coach had no heating at all and was being warmed by the slowly condensing breath of my fellow passengers.

There was quite a lot of grumbling. People had already been questioning how they were going to match us with our luggage, as there appeared to be little organisation about which of the two coaches making the journey we were on, and which our belongings. For those people used to airtravel, the lack of any sort of automated luggage tracking system (or in my case, the actual lack of an official tag, other than one the security guy made with my name and final destination on it) was an especial concern.

So you probably won’t be surprised to read that when I arrived in Vancouver, two and a half hours later than expected and with a window of an hour to get to the Consulate, I discovered that my luggage was missing.

The Greyhound employees couldn’t have been less helpful. They had no idea when my luggage might arrive, because they didn’t actually know where it was. They thought it might be on the other even more delayed coach, which they thought might get to Vancouver in the next hour or so. They weren’t sure. I tried to explain my situation to a teenager with a singularly bored expression than can only come from being terminally moronic, who just shrugged. If I were to go to the consulate and my luggage did arrive, they would take no responsibility for it and it would be just left out at the station.

I eventually found a Greyhound employee who was willing to take responsibility and if my luggage was on the coach, keep it in their office until I got back. So off I went to the consulate to get my passport. They were the epitome of British steadfastness in the face of adversity and I had my temporary passport in 90 minutes.

When I got back to the Greyhound bus station, they insisted on seeing some ID before they would release my luggage to me. I smiled as I produced my passport from my handbag.

Don't Cry For Me Argentina, Part Three

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Fri, 26 Dec 2008 14:58:00 +0000

First Real Snow of the Calgary Winter
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

The British High Commission in Ottawa couldn’t help. Can’t remember why now. A couple too many G&Ts and a bottle of Ridge Chardonnay with my mussels had left me with Monday morning fuzzy head. They suggested I call the British Consulate in Vancouver.

Gillian answered. “Just need to take a few details from you. Full name? Date of birth? We can issue emergency documents under exceptional circumstances. Let me call you back shortly.” 84 minutes later she called with the good news. They would be willing to grant me a passport. All I needed to do was get to the consulate the next day and I would be able to travel.

One small problem. The consulate is in Vancouver. That’s OK, I can fly there. Pause for realization. Not without a passport I can’t. And being a non-driving type, I don’t have any other form of picture ID that would allow me to board a plane. I don’t even have two forms of government issued ID without pictures that would allow me to travel.

I am about to type something that people who know me very well won’t be able to believe. I checked out the Greyhound bus schedule. The idea of Suzi on public transport is a little…unusual. In truth, I had managed to live in Calgary since August and had taken the bus for the very first time on Friday. The day I probably lost my passport. I don’t wish to sound sensationalist, but bad things happen when you take the bus. More on this later.

I've been told the flight from Calgary to Vancouver takes 54 minutes. The journey time by bus? 15 hours. There was just one seat left on the 6.30pm bus. Dear reader, I booked it. It would get me into Vancouver at 8.30am, allowing me to pick up my passport and then fly at 6pm from Vancouver to LA. Overnight in LA and then, on Christmas Eve, LA to Buenos Aires with a five and half hour gap in Washington to make the connecting flight.

Of course I had to try a little Plan B in the middle of it. I gathered together a dossier designed to convince an airline employee to allow me to fly. It contains my completed passport application, my work permit, my Australian Medicare card, my police report about the loss of my passport, an old expired passport that I found in a drawer (why I brought that with me to Canada and not my birth certificate, I’ll never know), photocopy of the photo page of my lost passport and a letter from my junior school headmaster saying I was morally upstanding. I was probably pushing it with the Medicare card but it was the only other government issued ID I could find. Man, I’m basically living off the grid.

Vancouver had 30cms of snow on Sunday 21st December. People kept talking about this like it was somehow significant. I just kept thinking “Erm, hello? This is Canada. We appear to be at the start of the next Ice Age so stop your whinging and warm my feet”. What this meant though, was that some flights got canceled. Now if the UK had 30cms of snow, the country would grind to a halt and we’d all kill and panic eat our neighbours. In Canada, a few flights got canceled and people talked even more about how lucky we were that it was a dry cold in Calgary. Not that wet cold snow they’re having in Vancouver. Oh no. Let’s pause for a second and count our blessings.

Of course the airport was like Picasso’s slightly over-wrought early attempts at Guernica and after an hour in line I was told that there were no seats left on flights to Vancouver. Not even if I told them that it was my birthday today.

When I said that bad things happen on buses, I was being serious. A man was recently stabbed to death, beheaded and parts of him eaten on a Greyhound bus from Edmonton to Manitoba. The killer was found with a ziplock bag of bits including an ear. You know, a little something for later. I would soon come to understand the significance of this detail.

That said, the Greyhound website made the whole thing sound like a real adventure. They show movies, make a big deal of the reclining seats and serve refreshments. I thought it might be quite romantic and was just wishing that I could journey through the day because I knew the scenery was going to be outstanding.

Then I arrived at the Greyhound station and the realization hit me. It was going to be a very long journey.

Don't Cry for Me Argentina, Part Two.

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Fri, 26 Dec 2008 14:39:00 +0000

Pedro in a snowdrift
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

So what constitutes an emergency? This was a question I asked myself as I perused the Foreign and Commonwealth website. It transpires that you can get emergency travel documents, only not on the weekend and only in extreme circumstances. I’d already cancelled my flights, because if I hadn’t, I would have forfeited most of the cost. So I no longer had any travel plans. Would the fact that I didn’t want to leave my brother alone in Buenos Aires for Christmas be a good enough excuse?

To be truthful, I gave up on the trip. The universe was clearly telling me *something*. I am not the kind of person who misses flights. I’m not even the kind of person who loses their passport. I am clumsy, prone to hyperbole, and kinda accident prone. Funny things happen to me. Especially since I moved to Calgary. I’ve been punched in the face as I walked down the street, scalded my face with a blender full of roasted tomato soup, been threatened with arrest for jaywalking and caused the evacuation of my entire building by accidentally setting off the fire alarm while making out in the lobby. At midnight. On a Sunday.

But back to the universe. Something odd was going on and I was at the point where I figured I wasn’t meant to go to Buenos Aires and, in the words of a friend, “something wonderful would happen to me if I stayed home.” So I made a shopping list for Christmas alone in Calgary

1. Food. My fridge was empty save a hunk of parmesan, a slab of coke zero, salted fermented black beans and some sambal oelek. I’d ran everything down in preparation for the trip and was basically left with condiments.
2. Alcohol. Sometimes it’s a bit frightening to calculate how much alcohol you conservatively reckon you’ll need for a week. Perhaps I am a high functioning alcoholic afterall. As I do my recycling, I’ve become accustomed to telling myself that I’ve had lots of people over to socialise.
3. Christmas decorations. Pedro just wasn’t cutting it on the balcony and I was starting to wonder if the Werepenguin wasn’t the cause of all this oddness.
4. Movies. I’ve always wanted to see “Elf” and I figured this was as good a time as any. And wasn’t Mamma Mia just out on DVD?
5. Cyanide pill. You know, just in case.

I cried a lot on Sunday. Then I pulled myself together, made some moules marinieres and had far too much to drink.

Don't Cry For Me Argentina, Part One.

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Wed, 24 Dec 2008 19:57:00 +0000

First Real Snow of the Calgary Winter
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

So I missed my flight to Buenos Aires.

Twice.

My brain’s up my bum at the moment, hence the first missed flight. I was sure I was flying on Friday and in spite of checking the itinerary twelve hundred times, well, needless to say I was flying on Thursday. The penny only dropped when I was on the phone to United, having attempted to check in online for a flight I had missed. I was about to get a bit snippy with the customer services executive as she asked me “why are you in Calgary?” for the fifth time and was resisting the urge to respond “because I did something terrible in a former life and am forced to pay for my sins by living on the ice planet of Hoth for a while”, when I realized what day it was.

Luckily I was rebooked, for Sunday, which was great because it meant that I was able to do all of the stuff I hadn’t got round to doing to prepare for the trip. Like pack. Get my inoculations. Do some Christmas shopping. Buy some summer clothes, because all of mine are in Sydney.

Of course it’s impossible to buy summer clothes in Calgary in December. It has been -35 for over a week now, a hitherto unknown temperature for me (and judging by the way that life in Calgary has crawled to a halt, an unknown temperature for it too. I had worked on the assumption that Calgary would continue to function in the cold, what with it being like Narnia here for about six months of the year, but all of the cab companies have just switched their lines to engaged and it’s impossible to get anywhere). I made the mistake of saying that cold all feels the same once you’re past minus seven, but once you’ve attempted to walk the six blocks to the office in -35, you feel like a fool for saying that. Your nostrils stick together. The air is knocked from your lungs. If you don’t have a wee before leaving, it freezes in your bladder.

And if I hear one more person tell me “but it’s a dry cold”, I will stab them through the heart with an icicle.

So I hired a cab driver for the day and went off to do my shopping. It was while I was purchasing some swimwear (at Commitments Lingerie in Dalhousie. I highly recommend them) that I realized my passport wasn’t in my bag but my work permit was. At this point I wished my wee had frozen in my bladder, because this was a disaster.

Is this the right time to mention I decided to give up smoking last week? After twenty years on the evil weed, I had decided enough was enough and wanted to use the trip as a chance to break my habit. Do you have any idea how much you want a cigarette when you think you’ve lost your passport? I was like some two dollar crack-whore, jonesing for a smoke, clawing at the cab windows as we drove back downtown.

My brain was telling me I must have left it in the office, when I was photocopying it for my friends’ PR application. Or it must be on the side at home. It cannot have just been whisked away by the Universe.

Of course it had.

It took me one online prayer to St Antony, two knots in hankies, three spirit guide messengers and four hours kicking through snow drifts and retracing all of my steps from the last time I saw it to realise that my passport was gone.

My passport. My most treasured possession. The thing that means I can split this joint with a second’s notice and go where my heart desires. This was really bad news.

Baba Ka Dhaba, Calgary

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 04:15:00 +0000

Baba Ka Dhaba
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

Plans had been afoot to eat at Baba Ka Dhaba for some time. Known as “the stand up” among my friends, I had been seduced with talk of totally delicious Indian food. It was reaching mythical status, and then everyone went into damage limitation mode, telling me to get drunk before I got there and to wear my oldest clothes.

A dhaba is a roadside restaurant throughout India and Pakistan. They are very popular with truck drivers, as they are often next to a petrol station. For British readers, this means you’re eating in the Indian equivalent of a “Happy Chef”, although pleasantly, the comparison stops there. The food served is often Punjabi, pretty spicy and with more of a homestyle feel that you’d get in a restaurant. If only the UK had roadside food as pungent and delicious as Baba Ka Dhaba. Perhaps I’d still be living there…

To continue the driving theme, Calgary’s Baba Ka Dhaba does look very similar to one of those illegal mini-cab offices you find in the east end of London. Not a lampshade in sight and it’s tiled, so you can either tell yourself it’s a bit like eating in a urinal, or that it’s really easy to hose down at the end of the night. To be honest though, this place probably hasn’t seen a good hosing down in a while.

The food, however, was glorious. Pillowy naan bread. Butter chicken in a sauce as silky as my underwear drawer. Chicken tikka, on the bone, all scrackly and charred from the oven. Pakora curry, a dish I had never heard of before, that was like eating the scrummiest dream you’ve ever had about your favourite person. Lamb chops and sheekh kebabs, be still my beating heart, that are better than Mirchi and rival those at Lahore Karahi in Tooting. We even got to go off-menu with goat hooves in a thin spicy gravy and some Nepalese fish, just flaking as you bite into the batter patina.

You’ll see my glamorous assistant Amit pointing out that the menu at Baba Ka Dhaba rotates through the week, so I can’t guarantee that what we had will be there when you go. In fact, I have an aloo naan winging its way to me as I type, as this is one of the Monday items.

Now, before you rush off there, remember that I don’t mind eating in a place that the interweb tells me has 16 health code violations. I cut some restaurants a lot of slack when it comes to things like this. Oddly enough, if I heard that a fine dining place was storing ice-cream on top of bones, then I’d be cautious. But this place is a hole in the wall and I’ve eaten pani puree on the streets of Bangalore, so I know I have a pretty cast iron stomach. What does make me weep though, is when people use the internet to complain that the chicken tikka wasn’t cooked properly and they got sick. Hello? If the chicken isn’t cooked properly, send it back, you cretin. Sometimes I find myself waiting for people to blossom from imbecile to idiot, and wondering why there isn’t some sort of test before people are allowed to post opinions on the web.

Baba Ka Dhaba is at 3504 17th Ave SE. You can call them on 403-207-5552.

Mirchi, Calgary

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Mon, 15 Dec 2008 06:31:00 +0000

Mirchi Kebabs
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

So what’s the restaurant that has been recommended to me the most in Calgary? Mirchi.

So of course I had to go.

This place is right next to the Safeway, and is almost a reason to shop here. Of course nothing is going to tempt me to frequent a supermarket that only seems to sell rotting vegetables, so until Mirchi opens a branch next to the Farmer’s Market, I can’t combine shopping for food to cook and a quick snack after.

Mirchi is a simple, no frills Pakistani/Indian café which has been open since 2007. We went on a cold, snowy Sunday night, because I’d heard the kebabs were amazing. I wasn’t disappointed. A lot of the food is served cafeteria style and we began by ordering at the counter, able to choose what looked most delicious.

I was with two people who like okra. They wanted it. Given I am in an “eat anything” kind of mood, I figured that now was a good time to see if my hatred of okra was ill-placed. Sorry to report that there will no further mentions of this evil vegetable on this blog for the foreseeable future. My fellow greedy weasels said that it was delicious though.

More interesting to me were the shish kebabs, all tender and moist, wrapped in some very good (although not perfect) naan with a really fresh salad. The salad in a lot of Indian/Pakistani restaurants can be a bit perfunctory, but as you can see from the picture, this is really pretty good. Chicken karahi came on the bone, lots of chunky pieces in a creamy, spicy sauce. With a couple of masala chai, this was a really, really good, very inexpensive meal.

Some chops were ordered as desert, when we saw a plate being delivered to the next table. The waiter thought we were joking though, and they never arrived. Luckily some friends brought some over a couple of nights later, and these are truly exceptional chops. The only tiny criticism I could make is that they might have been marinaded for a little too long, so the meat is very melting, lacking a little of the char and bite to the tooth from the best kebabs in the world (at Lahore Karahi in Tooting) But it is an exceptional marinade, so I may be being overly-critical.

All in all, this was a fantabulous meal, and a place that I am going to be visiting an awful lot.

Mirchi is at 101,825 - 12th Ave SW. Call 403 245-3663.

Silver Dragon, Calgary

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Tue, 09 Dec 2008 05:19:00 +0000

Silver Dragon, Calgary
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

Which foods do you hate?

It’s one of my questions. Whenever I’m eating with new people, I love finding out what they don’t eat.

The first answer is generally the same. “Oh, I eat most things.”

But when you probe further, there’s always something.

Raisins. Peas. Butter. Red pasta sauce. Garlic. Lamb. Tongue. I’ve heard all of these in the past three weeks.

Me? I joke that I’ll eat anything as long as it's not endangered. And okra and bananas.

I’ve been trying really hard to eat anything that’s put in front of me. Guided by Jeffrey Steingarten, the former food editor of Vogue, who, when he took the commission, started a process of culinary self-modification to train himself to eat all of the things he had previously avoided. He wrote a book about it “The Man Who Ate Everything”, which you really ought to read if you haven’t.

I’m still working on the bananas and okra. Bananas, to me, taste like they are rotting. Okra provokes a visceral response, the kind that I am lead to believe many have to oysters. In the same way that I don’t understand how someone can’t eat peas, people are stunned when I tell them I don’t eat bananas. Blank stares of amazement. As one person said recently “You’ve eaten squirrel. How can you not eat a banana?”

Of course they are right. I think it’s essential to try new things, and attempt to re-educate your palate around things that you don’t think you like. I remember being told to have the turnip cake at Hakkasan in London, by a foodie friend that I really respected. When it was served, I assumed he was playing some sort of joke on me. What on earth is this flavourless, slithery, lumpy thing? I actually gagged. Given that Hakkasan serves some of the finest dim sum in London, I’d assumed that turnip cake was not for me.

So I had a bit of shock when I tried it again and discovered that I actually liked it. Maybe it was the passage of time. Maybe I’m a slitherier kinda gal these days. Maybe I learned that Chinese food is as much about texture as flavour and love it for that. Maybe Hakkasan’s turnip cake was having a bad day. Now it’s something I would always order.

A recent yum cha foray to Silver Dragon in Calgary gave me the chance to have some more turnip cake. I think some of the people round the table might have been having the same response as I first had…but this was a pretty good example of the dish. Best of all here were the egg tarts, warm and wobbly from the oven and we managed three serves. The har gao are well worthy of investigation too, and I was intrigued to notice that you get two prawns in them here, rather than the measly London one. Less interesting were the roasted meats, but a squeaky-fresh serve of gai lan (pictured) more than made up for that.

So tell me. Which foods do you hate?

Silver Dragon is at 106 3 Avenue SE Calgary (403) 264-5326. You will definitely need a reservation for weekend yum cha.

Hakksan is at 8 Hanway Place, London, W1T 1HD. They serve the best xiao long bao I have ever eaten and the place cannot fail to make you feel like a Bond Girl.

Mi Tierra Tu Taqueria, Calgary

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Sun, 07 Dec 2008 22:51:00 +0000

Chiles Rellenos
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

Did you know that 21.4million people visited Mexico in 2006?

Nope, me neither.

I’d never been able to work out why internet food boards were always full of people complaining about the lack of decent Mexican food in their ‘hood. Of course part of the problem is that most of what we’re served as Mexican food is lowest common denominator meat product, coated in cheese and served with a battery-acid margarita, but I did always wonder why so many people were so passionate about Mexican food.

Having spent time in Chicago and cooked the whole of the Rick Bayless back catalogue, I feel like I know what good Mexican food is. After one particularly bad Mexican experience (in London, natch) I attempted to complain, but the owner had no time for me because I replied in the negative when he asked if I had ever been to Mexico.

I’ve never been to Pakistan either, but I can spot a good tandoori lamb chop at 25 paces.

All of this is a long way of telling you that I have found some good Mexican food. In Calgary.

This is somewhat surprising. Of course I tweeted it. “Stop the presses. Sensational enchilada verde found in Calgary strip mall”. An American friend replied “I would have been less surprised if you told me you’d seen a unicorn.”

But it’s true.

The enchilada verde is sensational, with the green chile sauce having a proper spicy kick. Now, some of the other stuff we ordered wasn’t quite as good; the chiles rellenos (pictured) were a bit flabby and a lacked sparkle, all of the rice was a bit lack-lustre, but who doesn’t love refried beans?

OK, so it’s a long way to go for one great dish, but I am sure that a further exploration of this menu will show up some more superstars. Oh, and the décor is a bit fast-food joint, so don’t go expecting a fine dining experience.

Mi Tierra Tu Taqueria is at 10015 Oakfield Drive SW. Call 403 238-1749. They are closed on Mondays and open 12-8pm Tuesday through Saturday and noon to 5pm on Sundays.

Movember Gingerbread Men

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Sun, 30 Nov 2008 21:41:00 +0000

Brady does Santa
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

Some of my colleagues have been looking a little hirsute recently. Movember Madness has infected the Calgary office and there have been a lot of furry looking men around. I was even asked if I wanted to "pet" someone's mustache on Friday night.

I declined with thanks.

That said, I was once told that kissing a man without a beard is like eating eggs without salt. And you wouldn't do that...hmmmmn.

Anyway, I wanted to do my bit to support Movember, but wasn't sure that a handlebar mustache would suit me. So I gathered together a group of girls (henceforth known as the Gingerbread Elves) to make some gingerbread men to sell to our colleagues. I figured that we could ice some mustaches onto them.

Sunday afternoon saw us making and baking two batches of gingerbread dough. Monday saw us laying them out in the office and setting up an icing station so that people could decorate and then eat. My creative friends made some cowboys and a transgendered gingerbread person. These were to be sold at a premium.

We raised $85 which goes towards our team goal. If you fancy donating before Movember ends, go here https://www.movember.com/ca/donate/donate-details.php?type=team&team_rego=100246&country=ca

Nectar, Calgary

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Thu, 27 Nov 2008 05:43:00 +0000

Nectar, Calgary
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

Oh dessert. How much I love you.

Of course I’m showing my non-u roots there. Dessert, in the UK, is one of those shibboleths that give away your class origin. You’re supposed to say pudding, unless it contains fruit, when you could, quite correctly, call it dessert. Especially if you’re dining with a pedant.

Either way, I always used to say I didn’t like desert. I was lying. I *heart* dessert, pudding and afters and I don’t care what you call it, as long as it’s delicious.

Dessert was the whole point of last night’s venture out to Inglewood. We picked a “tapas” place to begin, reasoning that we really all just wanted to go to Nectar, but felt that we ought to have something savory first. We should have skipped dinner at Village Cantina because it wasn’t great. But I am feeling nice, so I shall spare you the critique.

Let’s celebrate the good, right?

Nectar’s philosophy is simple:

“Dessert is special. Unlike regular foods, we use it to treat ourselves, celebrate important occasions, to thank, and to reward. Children beg for it, grown-ups sneak it. Nectar Desserts makes sure that each and every piece we make is a special event itself, from first sight, to last bite!”

Housed upstairs from a couple of chi-chi stores, the room is all hard-wood converted loft chic. They have some nice over-stuffed sofas, lots of cute mirrors on the walls, dim lighting and a glass cabinet full of gorgeousness that made me drool. Mental note, perfect date place. Should I have the chocolate and salted caramel tarte? Or the blackberry and passionfruit one? Perhaps a tasting plate of five different flavoured macaroons? A posh s’more? Actually, that one nearly won until an American friend pointed out that it’s illegal for my first ever s’more to be in an up-scale dessert bar and we need a fire pit to induct me into the world of s’mores.

I’ve been learning a lot about s’mores recently. I saw a post on Mike Czyzewski's blog entitled the Omnivore’s Hundred. It’s a list of 100 things you could/should/ought to eat. I’ve had about 85 of them (missing out on things like fugu, durian, fondue (!) the Big Mac, a root beer float, a Hostess Fruit Pie and the aforementioned s’mores). A lot of the ones I’ve missed out on are North American and I even had to go and look up s’mores. Hadn’t even heard of them, but then I realized that this is because I am allergic to camping and grew up in the UK. Turns out there’s an Alberta connection to the s’more though. Add some peanut butter and you have the Banff Blast. God, isn’t Wikipedia amazing?

Back to Nectar. I ended up choosing the salted caramel tarte. It’s the benchmark patisserie item for me, a modern day classic, and I already knew that Nectar was going to have to suck really, really, really hard for me not to be back. So I’d start with the basics. And a macaroon chaser. And a glass of Bonny Doon “framboise” which was the perfect partner. Sometimes I think I might be quite good at this food lark.

The tarte was good. Not perfect, amazing or likely to give Pierre Herme any sleepless nights, but they’d used Valrhona Guanaja, one of my favourites, a 70% bitter chocolate from South America and did a good job with the chocolate pastry crust. The macaroon was less amazing, but I am not sure that Calgary, a place I swear is drier than the Lut Desert, is the best place to be making and selling macaroons. That’s not going to stop me trying them again though.

Other lovely touches included some exceptional canelles and a wide range of take-home sorbets and ice-creams that don’t have any nasty preservatives or fillers. My ingredients list for the cherry sorbet says “sweet cherries, sugar”. Good to see and makes me miss my ice-cream maker less.

Any bum notes? A couple. They don’t take reservations and don’t accommodate tables of more than six. So they weren’t very pleased when nine of us turned up. We split into two tables, but were told “it’s quiet tonight so you can stay.”

Can you imagine walking into a clothes store and being told “we hate the way you look but sales are down this month, so come on in, fatty?” I still don’t understand why restaurants (or in this case, a dessert bar) can get the basics of customer service wrong. Luckily most of the rest of the service was sweet, kind, enthusiastic and knowledgeable, and we did break their rules, so I shall forgive them. And go back next week.

Nectar Dessert Bar is upstairs at 1216 9th Ave SE

Chef's Table, Calgary

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Tue, 25 Nov 2008 03:19:00 +0000

Soup: Chef's Table Calgary
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

Executive Chef Theo Yeaman has cooked in some interesting-sounding places I have never eaten at in Canada and has done a stage at the Fat Duck in Bray, where I have. His restaurant, Chef’s Table at the Kensington Riverside Inn, was just named the fourth best new restaurant in Canada by AirCanada’s enRoute magazine. It would appear I get all my best tips from airline magazines these days.

Let’s get the quibbles out of the way first. The table was booked for 8.15pm, but I wasn’t seated until 9pm. There are two dining rooms, one with a fabulous open kitchen, the other with a fabulous…open fireplace. I was sat in the latter. Now, I recognize that being dateless in Calgary on a Saturday night is probably reason enough to throw yourself in the Bow River, but the restaurant staff didn’t help matters by seating me, back to the rest of the room, next to the fire. Talk about being a social pariah. Luckily I was moved, without having to ask, when I took out my camera.

The service was a bit wonky all night. I like informal; I don’t like being asked how my food is tasting when I have a mouthful of it or trying to give some feedback on a dish and being asked if I have eaten monkfish before. But I know I can be a right old grumpy-pants at times, and these are minor compared to some delicious, bold pairings and flavours that made up most of my meal and service that is friendly and warm.

First up, an amuse bouche of a teeny two-bite Forme D’Ambert tart, just warm from the oven and formed from deliciously short pastry. Next, an earthy turnip and apple soup, with perky texture and sweetness from some candied walnuts. Yes, they called it a veloutè and yes, it’s not 1998 anymore, but who cares about menu anachronisms when the food’s this good?

A Queen Charlotte scallop with blood orange foam, edamame, salmon roe and orange segments really shouldn’t have worked, but did. The Heidi Schrock Weissburgunder which paired it showed the skills of the sommelier and a wine service and kitchen that are working well together. Yeaman’s food uses striking flavours and it’s good to see that the wine service is up to the task.

The fish course was the only bum note of the evening. The preparation was interesting; roasted Atlantic monkfish with beef jus and a take on cassoulet with some cannellini beans and pancetta, but the fish was mealy and poorly cooked. It’s a shame that the quality of the fish and the execution let the dish down, because I’m often bored to death by the fish course on a tasting menu and this was genuinely interesting.

Then, deep breath, an “intermezzo” of blood peach sorbet with a dash of prosecco. I was ready to be all scathing (seriously, when was the last time you were served a sorbet in the middle of the meal? Were you wearing legwarmers at the time?) but the sorbet had bags of flavour and I liked the deconstructed Bellini thing that was going on. So I stopped complaining and embraced my inner Irene Cara.

Next up, Ewenique farm lamb saddle with panella, roasted eggplant and a thyme jus. Served with a 2005 Poggio di Sotto Rosso di Montalcino, this was Italy on a plate. I’d never heard of panella before (and my interweb research suggests that it’s traditionally a Sicilian chickpea fritter, rather than the chickpea and polenta purée I was served) but how lovely when you learn something new from a menu. Especially when it tastes this delicious. The lamb was just fab, although any pun as good as Ewenique is going to get me on-side from the get-go.

Finally, some doughnuts with a compote and an exceptional custard. I would have lingered over the lingonberries, but the table of dentists next to me were getting kind of graphic, so I brushed off offers of a cappuccino (a cappuccino? At 11pm? Do I look like a hairdresser?) and made off into the night.

Best meal I’ve had in Calgary? By a long shot. Good enough for me to go back soon. The tasting menu changes fortnightly. This could be the beginning of a beautiful thing.

Chef’s Table is at the Kensington Riverside Inn, 1126 Memorial Drive N.W, Calgary. Call 403.228.4442 for reservations.

Ali Baba Kabob House, Calgary

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Sat, 22 Nov 2008 19:30:00 +0000

Ali Baba Kabob House
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

The restaurant that’s getting the most coverage in the Calgary blogosphere at the moment is Ali Baba Kabob House. Yes, there is a Calgary blogosphere. I was quite surprised too, but it’s well worth checking out the lovely Andree at ugonnaeatthat? and John Manzo at Creative Juices and Solids . I followed their lead and suggested that our CalgaryFoodie group trot along.

It’s often a bit stressful taking a large group of people to a place you’ve never visited before. Still, I had done my research and was prepared with a list of the dishes we should order. Of course I was late getting there and everyone else had already ordered. So they missed out on my research and looked a bit crestfallen.

Ali Baba is an Afgan restaurant, Calgary’s second, which has been open for a month or so now. Its very casual, more of a fast food place really, but some of the food is really good. My guide for dining here is as follows;

Have the qabali rice. It’s only a dollar extra and it’s fluffy, buttery, carroty and sultana-y all at the same time. I don’t have much time for sweet and savoury, but this is delicious.
Try the sultani dinner, mixed sticks of barg and korma kebab. I really hope that sultani means fit for a Sultana. This was.
Do not miss the boulanee. Street food is really popular in Afghanistan and the tabang walas (street vendors) often have these “turnovers” filled with leeks or mashed potato.
If you go before I get back there, try the choppan (lamb chops). I love a lamb chop, but thought it was a bit greedy to order these as well. Tell me what they are like.

Not everything is perfect here. The salad of iceberg lettuce and tomato is pointless and not livened up at all by the accompanying pot of yogurt and mint dressing. The salad with feta that someone else ordered looked very work-a-day. Most of the blogs that have written about this place haven’t praised the bread, so I didn’t bother.

But it’s cheap, tasty and cheerful, just as long as you stick to the guidelines above.

Ali Baba’s Kabob House 1602 14th St. S.W. Call 403-874-9791

Divino Wine and Cheese Bistro, Calgary

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 22:06:00 +0000

Close Up Divino Door
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

Oh Calgary, if you keep this up, I might have to change my culinary opinions of you.

Fresh from my new love, FARM (we're still in the early stages, I get all tummy-tingly when I think about this place and fragments of love poems keep popping into my mind) comes Divino. It's a sexy little wine and cheese bar on Stephen Avenue (of all places). I think I might have to have an illicit affair with it.

My first trip wasn't really about going to Divino. It was a place to meet before seeing a show. We were just going to have a glass of wine. But then we saw the cheese list and thought we ought to have a piece of two. You know, to be social.

This is how these thing start. You have the best intentions, no plans to let another into your heart, but they wiggle their way in, in this instance with some exceptional taleggio and superlative bread. Also great was the tête de moines, all coquettishly rosetted and fresh from the girolle. Finally, a British cheese, the king of cheeses, a Leicestershire Stilton, which had been beautifully kept and was in the peak of creamy condition.

Two glasses of Kung Fu Girl Riesling (Best. Name. Evah.) from Washington State, tipped the whole hour-long trip over into a sensational sixty minutes.

Can't wait to go back and try the food proper.

Divino is at 113 - 8th Avenue SW. Call 403-410-5555 for reservations.

FARM restaurant, Calgary

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 16:59:00 +0000

Menu and Cutsey Tea-light
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

Everybody has a type, right?

If you’ve got a shaved head, glasses, a couple of conspicuous tattoos and can use the work chagrin in a sentence, I will give you my number. And that’s just the ladies.

In the same way that we humans often have an ideal partner-type, we food lovers often have a restaurant type. For some, it’s the linen-lapped formality of a Michelin three star place. Others love a gastro-pub, all stripped wood floors and a terrine. Many like a TGI Fridays, although there’s nothing for them to see on this blog.

Et moi? Well, I’m a sucker for those casual places that source great ingredients and just let them speak for themselves. I love cutsey, often mis-matched plates. Really, really fine wine glasses. Menus written on chalk-boards. A bar where you can dine alone. Small-plate menus that are made for sharing. Wait staff with piercings.

I was getting slightly depressed by the lack of these kinds of places in Calgary. But one just opened. And I *heart* it.

Janice Beaton has been a bit of culinary lighthouse for me over the past couple of months. Her cheese stores (Janice Beaton’s Fine Cheese) on 17th Ave and in Kensington prove that the restorative powers of a brie de meaux cannot go underestimated.

So the opening of her first restaurant is a big deal. Some say it’s based on Salt in Vancouver, but as I chatted to Janice, it’s clear that this place is all about her passion. Her passion for cheese and for bringing people together over food.

The format is simple. One list of 28g serves of cheese and meats, served on boards with a compliment. So your 3 year old Canadian cheddar is paired with a beautiful tomato relish. A chalkboard of daily muses, offers up the “specials” which generally include a soup, a salad and a couple of other dishes. The roasted tomato soup was sensational; creamy (although it contained no cream) with a hint of spice and a sludge of onions. The trout salad, served with a lemon-chevre mousse, caperberries and baguette croutons, was a very grown-up, deconstructed take on a smoked salmon bagel. These might not be here when you go, but there will surely be something equally delicious to tempt you.

What I can be sure of is that even without the specials, the short little menu has enough to capture your interest. Order the mac and cheese. Get the large one and fantasise about bathing in the mustardy, cheesy sauce and exfoliating with the crumb topping. The JBFC goat cheese fritter is also worthy of investigation, but you don’t need me to wax lyrical about the virtues of fried cheese. The confit duck salad, with arugala and spinach, is lifted to the sublime by some toasty hazelnuts and dried apple chips. The kitchen really knows how to get the most of their, often local, ingredients by adding in texture. This is simple food, with no superfluous flavours.

The drinks list including sherry, port, stickies, international and local beers, ciders and bubbles. The wine list has a really good selection by the glass and some which even come in even tinier tasting pours. I can’t move on from the pouilly fumè at the moment, but they have a couple of vinho verde which I need to try.

As we sat, munching, on Friday night, I turned to my expat friend and said “Tonto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.” This restaurant is what Calgary needs and it really raises the bar here. It would flourish in any major city. There would be a line round the block if this opened in London. It’s modern, sexy, cosy, delicious and I want to live here. The only problem is that they don’t take reservations, and if they keep up the good work, it’s going to be impossible to get a table very soon.

FARM is at 1006 17th Avenue SW Calgary. Call 403.245.2276 if there are more than eight of you. That’s the only way to get a reservation.

Incanto, San Francisco

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Thu, 06 Nov 2008 05:52:00 +0000

Incanto Blood Sausage, Egg and Oysters
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

I’d been meaning to write about this place for a while, but the food didn’t blow me away and so I never got round to it. However, the other evening’s “At the Table With...” on the Food Network Canada, reminded me of the place.

I’m a massive fan of “nose to tail” eating and I’d had my eye on Chris Cosentino at Incanto for some time. I think the moral of my visit here is never take a group that’s 50% vegetarians to a restaurant that’s all about the offal, because they’re not going to have very much to choose from.

That said, as a firm fan of offal, there wasn’t much for me to choose on this Sunday night. I did my best though.

My starter augered well. Entitled “Chef’s Last Supper” it was perfect comfort food; for the viscerally inclined. Soft, wobbly oysters, a poached hen’s egg and some crumbly morcilla, napped with pangrattato for contrast. Best starter went to the sardines with pickled fennel and radish salad. The sardines were spankingly fresh and Chris looked all smug about his choice. I broke my personal rule of not ordering risotto (too many carbs, I make a mean risotto myself and I tend to get bored after about seven mouthfuls) because it was a chicken giblet risotto. It was delicious- well cooked and the muskiness of the giblets made it more interesting, but ultimately it was just risotto, and I can make that at home.

Having watched this show tonight, I am 100% sure that we didn’t see 50% of what the kitchen can do. Chris Cosentino is the most passionate chef I have watched for a long time. I love his commitment to sustainability. His passion for the animals that he prepares. His willingness to face up to the fact that animals have to die to provide us with meat and that he cried when talking about slaughtering his first goat. This is someone that really respects animals (and I love that he jokes his son will probably become a vegan aged 16 in an act of rebellion).

There are too many places that I want to eat in in San Francisco, but I think I am going to have to go back to Incanto.

Incanto is at 1550 Church Street, San Francisco. Call 415-641-4500 for reservations.

Spice Hut, Calgary

noreply@blogger.com (Suzi Edwards) — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 03:51:00 +0000

Kebabs at Spice Hut, Calgary
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

Sometimes the story of how you find a restaurant is better than the restaurant itself.

Steve instigated Thursday night curry a while ago. He and a couple of friends would get drunk and then go eat a curry. Simple enough. Only Steve is one of those people whose surreal knob is generally turned up to 11 (ask him about his first attempt at web development sometime) and one night their cab driver basically kidnapped them, promising them the best curry they would have in Calgary.

Lo, Spice Hut, Pakistani restaurant extraordinaire, entered the restaurant consciousness of my friends.

I loved the story so much that I insisted we go there. So a few weeks ago, a group of us set off. During Ramadan. At 6pm. Hmmmn.

The guys in Spice Hut were very accommodating and soon brought us the piles of food we’d ordered. I insisted on some sheehk kebabs and breads, as these are the benchmark items to assess the calibre of any of any Pakistani restaurant. Given it was Ramadan we had to have some haleem. And almost everything else on the menu. Apart from the fish and chips. Turns out that Spice Hut used to be a fish and chip shop, and after they took over the place, so many people came in asking for them that they just added them to the menu.

You’ll notice I say kebabs. I don’t wish to be dramatic, but please shoot me in the face if you ever see my write “kabob” on this blog. And while I’m at it, send me home if you hear me order a “donair”. It sounds like a cut-price Turkish airline and I am wedded to the use of donner.

Come to think of it, if you ever hear me order a donner kebab, section me, because I’ve clearly lost my mind. We all know they’re made out of owl snouts and reconstituted rat penis.

I’m pleased to report that the kebabs at Spice Hut are very, very good. Well spiced, with good char and plentiful. The tikka was pretty good too but who goes to a Pakistani restaurant for the chicken tikka? Breads were a bit of a let down. No green chili paratha and the naans were very dry. No lamb chops either. ‘Sigh.

In their defence, we ordered too many different dishes and we were starving, so things got a bit of our hand and my critical capacities were just blown away by the variety of dishes. That said, the haleem was exceptional, much better than at Lahore Karahi, my favourite Pakistani restaurant in the world.

I’ll go back, mainly for the kebabs. Although the word on the street is that there’s a new great kebab place in town…

Spice Hut is at 6554, 4th Street NE, Calgary, 403 274 7687