For some years now I've been meaning to try my hand at slow cooking. We received a slow cooker as part of our wedding gift registration, and today (Sunday) was the day. A few days ago I picked up a boneless shoulder of New Zealand lamb (from the underrated 24 hour A&P at Adelaide and Cheapside). I defrosted it on Saturday night in the refrigerator and on Sunday morning I placed it inside the crock pot with: some tomato paste, a little water, a bit of honey lager beer (that's another story), two medium-sized onions, and four cloves of garlic. Oh, and I rubbed some Italian spices, sea salt, and olive oil on the meat. I turned the cooker to 'low', and watched the recent remake of The Omen (not bad, but somewhat unecessary). This was at 10:30am. I had it in my head that 10 hours would do. I based this on some research, but in all honesty, it was a guess. After five hours I placed some roasting potatoes (again, with salt and spice and olive oil) and feta cheese in the now-bubbling sauce. Five hours later Pauline and I tucked into my variation of a Greek classic, kleftiko. Oh, and I also put together a somewhat Greek salad. It's hard to articulate but: I didn't think it was going to work until the minute I ate my first bite. What can I say, some of the time it just works out. ¶ I picked up a suitcase of Lakeport Honey Lager in cans on Friday from the nearby Beer Store. I placed 23 of them in the fridge. The 24th was... nearly empty. It was sealed, to be sure, but it had about the amount of liquid you might expect from 'an empty can'. I decided to take action. Impressively, they took the freak can and in return they offered a cold 750ml can of Blue. Hey, it's not my favourite beer but I left with a smile on my face all the same. ¶ I hope you enjoy this week's feature portrait, the late talented Christopher Wallace.

Labels: Cooking, FeaturedIllustration, Londontown

¶ 12:16 AM

Some time ago Pauline suggested to me the idea of having a "big batch night". This meant, essentially, that we'd cook a stew or soup, eat, and then freeze or refrigerate the remainder. I somehow heard "chili" in my brain when she said "big batch" and I immediately agreed that it was a good idea. We decided on Monday nights. This quickly evolved into a sort of date night which we took full advantage of. On a good night we'd turn Monday evening into a Friday nite. That was rare, but it did happen. ¶ As people moved apartments and constants turned into legacies, our date night somehow became redundant, unecessary. But this was just an illusion. Tonight it was revived, and it was a treat to be grateful for! ¶ The odds were against us. Herself was still suffering from heat stroke (see yesterday's post), and the restaurant we finally decided on was completely unknown to us. But the gamble seemed to be self-guaranteeing, and I left the house with some optimism. It wasn't a complete leap: Toronto Life gave it a rave review, and the language surrounding the review made the place out to be an institution so I had history by my side. The cab ride itself was uneventful, but our driver turned out to be a philosopher. He didn't say much, but he did wonder about the root of evil in man, and he asked us about it in plain language. Strangely, I ignored him. ¶ Joso's (202 Davenport Rd., 416-925-1903) is in fact a famous Toronto seafood and fish restaurant, but neither Pauline nor I had ever heard of it. It was, naturally, the best fish I've had in the city. But it was much more than that. Our waitress was a complete pro, the restaurant itself was charmingly decorated with erotic art, surrealism, and fish paintings, and the atmosphere was ideal. We ordered the octopus, a mixed green salad, and the Arctic char. The octopus was an order of heavenly grilled protein, the salad was a tasty delight, and the char was a feast. I devoured much of the fish, but it was a big fish. Pauline had her fair share as well, but this char could have easily fed a family of four. The Gavi washed it all down and we were out of there just as the dinner rush was in full swing. We walked all the way to the Cloak for an after-dinner pint. It was a great night, and even though Pauline was not totally herself, I think she felt better than she had all day. ¶ We're moving our big batch night to Sundays in the fall. I had the idea of doing a roast every fourth Sunday (as a monthly alternative to stews or soup). Keen on the roast idea.

Labels: Cooking, Restaurants, Toronto, Wine

¶ 10:59 PM

There's this great character-driven scene two-thirds into GoodFellas where the worry-wort gangster Henry Hill is concerned about the police buzz surrounding the Lufthansa Heist. He walks into the bar where he and his cronies hang out, and his shoulders are bunched up in that red leather jacket of his, eyes open, and brows raised. Jimmy Conway, in a scene previous, was losing his shit on the thugs who were spending big money on Caddys and furs which was attracting attention from the coppers. In this scene, though, he's the picture of calm. No worries. Australian, even. Tommy DeVito, the monster, is the picture of calm, too. "There's nothing to worry about. Everything is beautiful." But, Henry insists, what about the FBI? The Lufthansa reports on the radio? What about... "He hasn't heard," they say. You see, Tommy was to be a made man, and that has overshadowed everything in these mens lives. It actually doesn't matter that the FBI is hot on their heels, at least for now, because they're celebrating something. And you can just see the relief on Hill's face. The worrying, for now, can rest. ¶ Pontiac effortlessly turned out her second-ever Butternut squash and Cheddar and Beer soup last night to a receptive stomach/soul. I cobbled together a salad, but it was her soup that turned things around for me. Guess what's for lunch? ¶ My ad in Communication Arts (March/April 2006) is now on newsstands! Page 10.

Labels: Cinema, Cooking, Freelancing

¶ 11:23 AM