Who was that Masked Diner?

A Promising Intro to Kirei Sushi + Bar

Sat, 16 Jun 2012 14:26:00 -0400

When a favourite restaurant closes or moves away, there’s only a big hole left — not just in the building it used to be in, but in my heart, or more to the point, in my stomach.

This was certainly the case when Ivory Thailand on Church Street closed. Ivory Thailand would not have won any awards; it was just an unassuming Thai restaurant, one of many in Toronto — but it was one that had a buffet that had became comfort food for me, and that had a cozy atmosphere and friendly wait staff.

Nature abhors a vacuum, though, and in this case, it filled it with Kirei Sushi + Bar, a trendy place that luckily seems to have some substance behind the flash.

I haven’t tried their sushi yet — certainly the acid test of any sushi place. But I did triy one of their Saturday lunch specials, a bento box meal with gindara (grilled cod) as the main attraction. I was delighted to find the food to be delicate — by which I mean that it didn’t exhibit the usual greasy heavy-handedness and blandness of many of the so-called sushi places in Toronto.

The meal got off to a good start (or pre-start, if there is such a thing) when the server brought a complimentary appetizer — a small portion of warm white rice noodles in what tasted like a bonito broth.

The meal then formally started with a bowl of miso soup, perhaps a little lacking in flavour but pleasant nevertheless, and a small, refreshing salad.

Then it was on to the main meal, which certainly had great presentation — and, fortunately, proved to taste as good as it looked, too. The gindara was perfect in texture and flavour, and was served on a bed of pan-fried vegetables. You don’t get a lot of fish; this was a thin slice, perhaps five inches long and about a quarter-inch thick. But together with the other elements of the meal (see below) and taken in tasty morsels with the fluffy rice, the serving was actually most satisfactory.

Besides, taken with the other elements of the meal, there was really no danger of the lunch not being filling. The meal included a bowl of rice, and the other tenants of the bento box itself were veggie tempura and a piece of shrimp tempura (also not heavy-handed — good shrmp-to-batter ratio!), half a dozen California rolls, some edamame, and a piece each of steamed dumpling and siomai (or reasonable facsimile).

The dumpling and the siomai were probably fillers to make sure the customer did not go hungry. While they tasted OK, they looked like they had been taken from one of those frozen dimsum packages you buy at the supermarket. They did not detract from the overall quality of the meal, though, and I felt that the $14 I spent for the Saturday special was well spent.

I’m not one for bars or pubs — unless they have really great food. This particular bar passes my litmus test, based on this initial experience. The sake and other drinks here are probably worth trying at least once, but I know it’s the food I’ll be back for.

Meals on Wheels — or, Eating Really Well on a 2,800-mile...

Sun, 26 Feb 2012 12:39:00 -0500

Perfectly done roast beef, fat and all

Angus beef burger for lunch

Simple but hearty breakfasts

Table settings enhanced the meals

And the scenery didn't hurt

The Canadian Rockies

Desserts tasted as good as they looked

The Patricia St. Deli in Jasper, AB

After the rich food, a fresh sandwich!

Meals on Wheels — or, Eating Really Well on a 2,800-mile Journey from Toronto to Vancouver

There are certainly faster ways to get from Toronto to Vancouver — but undoubtedly few tastier ways than taking Via Rail’s The Canadian, a train that brings you from east to west, ever so leisurely, in four days. I took the trip with my son in the fall of 2011. We had purchased a sleeper package in which all the gourmet meals were included, so we looked forward to a unique gastronomical and sightseeing experience.

The trip certainly did not disappoint in either respect. Certainly, on the gastronomical front, the meals did not disappoint. They were invariably good, with some dishes (like the roast beef) standing out in particular. The table settings were elegant, and there is something to be said about having your meal by a train car window while stunning scenery whizzes by. There was only one occasion to have a real meal off the train, and this was when we made a several-hour stop in Jasper, Alberta. We found a homey place, the Patricia Street Deli, that served freshly-made sandwiches — a refreshing change from the rich food we’d been having on board the train.

On the train, we did run into an unexpected twist at our very first meal: Because of limited seating in the dining car, all meals would be taken opposite complete strangers sharing the same table. Having a table to yourself and your companion was completely out of the question. This turned the meals into social events in which you a) shyly tucked into your food while averting the eyes of the people opposite you or b) made a real attempt to enhance the meal by enjoying it together with the erstwhile strangers.

Taking option b) certainly opened up a new dimension. Before each breakfast, lunch, or dinner, we thought not just “Wonder what we’re having today” but also “Wonder what kind of people we’ll meet today”. So, while savoring our hot roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, or grilled arctic char, or rack of lamb, we made the acquaintance of people as varied as the food we were being served.

We met a mother and son from Syracuse, NY, a retired art gallery owner from Toronto, an Australian couple visiting friends they had made while assigned as teachers in Ontario many years ago, a young couple from Nashville, Texas, and a Russian girl from some obscure town near the North Pole.

In at least one case, we met people whose adventures would definitely be greater than the one we were all on. Towards the tail end of our journey, we met a young Indian couple who had lived in Toronto for some years but decided that the big city was not for them. So they up and packed up for Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, where they had no family, no firm job prospects, and no knowledge, even, of where they would be staying the night they arrived in the city!

The social interaction over meals did have one negative impact: I could hardly take keep taking pictures of food in polite company! So, as much as the gastronomical experience on board The Canadian was worth writing about, I finished the trip without much photographic evidence of the well-prepared meals I had enjoyed. Fortunately, I do have a few visual mementos of those great meals, but for the most part, they will have to remain trapped forever in the memory of my taste buds.

"My hard disk is overweight. Must be all those food pictures."

Sat, 18 Feb 2012 20:04:34 -0500

“My hard disk is overweight. Must be all those food pictures.”

MIKU’S ABURI SUSHI IS FOREVER SEARED INTO OUR...

Sat, 18 Feb 2012 19:27:00 -0500

MIKU’S ABURI SUSHI IS FOREVER SEARED INTO OUR SENSES

Vancouver, BC

We were in Vancouver for just one night, after a four-day train journey from Toronto on Via Rail’s Canadian. We had eaten very well indeed on the train, and saw no reason to stop now! Boldly trolling the Internet for suggestions, we came up with Miku Restaurant, which specializes in aburi, or sear-flamed sushi.

We may have forgotten the names of the dishes we had (which explains the lack of captions for each photo here), but the exquisite flavours remain seared, as it were, into our taste buds. The Aburi technique allows the fresh fish and other ingredients to retain their natural flavour, yet adds an extra dimension that brings more depth, and even surprise, to the dish.

Somewhere in the process, Miku introduces some secret sauces that enhance the experience even more. We puzzled over one of the striking flavours in the dishes, and decided that it reminded us, of all things, of Schneider’s Hot Rods!

But this theory bears further field research, and we have sworn to return to Miku as soon as possible to gather more data.

Working up an appetite in Geneva

Tue, 14 Feb 2012 12:09:00 -0500

There’s nothing like walking up 157 narrow steps to whet your appetite. Walking through the Old Town of Geneva, Switzerland, the Masked Diner accepted a challenge to go up to the spire of the ancient St. Peter’s Cathedral (where John Calvin preached). So he climbed the steep winding stairs to the spire to have a spectacular view of Geneva and environs.

Aside from a great view of the city, MD had an ulterior motive: the challenging climb would be a perfect excuse to treat himself to a great dinner afterwards.

Even before you get to negotiate the stairs INSIDE the church, you get to negotiate the many stairways leading TO the church. After an unseasonably wintry week, Geneva’s streets were icy and slippery. By the way, The restaurant to the left of the stairs is one of the few in Geneva that deliberately does NOT serve alcohol. Perhaps it’s because inebriated people could never hope to make it up these stairs to the church.

After gingerly making his way up, MD finally caught his first glimpse of the church from a parking lot behind the building.

Inside the church, the real job began, as MD negotiated 157 narrow, winding steps up to the tower.

The atmosphere was eerie, specially since MD seemed to have come at a time when there were only few tourists around.

Success! MD made it up the stairs and walked past this silent sentinel to get to the balconies offering the spectacular views of the city.

And the view was as advertised. Even on a winter’s day, the view was breathtaking — or rather, would have been breathtaking if MD hadn’t already been out of breath due to the climb.

Next came the easy part: going back down the stairs, which was approximately 300% easier than going up. And the best part: a well-earned raclette dinner!

Note: For a slightly longer account of this epic climb, check out this other blog.

You won't regret raclette

Fri, 10 Feb 2012 20:18:00 -0500

Visiting a friend in Geneva, Switzerland, the Masked Diner decided that he just had to have some iconic Swiss food. As time and funds did not permit him to try every possible Swiss specialty, he opted for something familiar, yet hoped that there would be something novel about the experience. He decided to have raclette, that meal consisting of melted raclette cheese poured over boiled potatoes.

MD has had raclette many, many times — almost always at home, where the meal was a simple matter of buying some raclette cheese from Chris’ Cheesemongers, boiling some potatoes, then firing up his ancient Tefal raclette maker. But he wanted to see how it was done in the country where the dish originated.

MD’s friend, who has taken countless out-of-town guests on try-something-Swiss dinners, was probably glad that MD didn’t want that other Swiss cheese specialty, fondue. He took MD to Auberge de Saviese on the popular rue des Paquis in downtown Geneva, where they had one the house raclette special, offering three servings of raclette cheese, boiled fingerling potatoes, and an order of the assiette Valaisanne, a traditional platter of ham, bacon, dried meat, sausage, and cheese. (Cost: CHF 31, or about C$34).

The main part of the meal, the star of the show, doesn’t look like much, admittedly — its really just a puddle of sticky, melted cheese (shown sprinkled with some paprika). But it’s one of those foods that tastes way better than it looks.

There’s no elaborate ceremony with raclette: you take a potato, pour or spread the cheese over it, and enjoy. Raclette cheese has a stronger smell than, say, cheddar, but is by no means one of those stinky cheeses that may be an acquired taste. If you like gruyere, you will probably like raclette.

In between bites of cheese-coated potato, you can enjoy the various meats that are part of the assiette Valaisanne, or have some of the cornichon (crisp, tart pickles made from tiny gherkin cucumbers) and pickled pearl onions.

Three servings of the raclette cheese prove to be more than enough to feel pleasantly full. But there was room for dessert, so MD’s reliable guide suggested another local favourite, the meringue with Gruyere double cream (cost: CHF 10, or about C$11).

This dish may resemble dumplings covered in white sauce, but what it actually resembles more is a taste of heaven. There is no sugar added to the double cream, but that’s because it’s rich enough as it is. Between MD and his friend, the submerged meringue and all the cream disappeared quickly. It was only in deference to etiquette that MD did not lick the plate.

Elsewhere in the restaurant, other diners were dipping into their fondues. But MD had no regrets. The raclette meal was delightful, unforgettable, and, as a bonus, undoubtedly Swiss.

Much is right at the Shipwright's Cafe, PEI

Sat, 30 Jul 2011 17:14:00 -0400

The Shipwright’s Cafe in Margate, Prince Edward Island, is a culinary voice in the wilderness.

That statement can be taken quite literally, since the restaurant, on the outskirts of the town of Kensington, is almost lost amidst the potato fields and red dirt roads of rural PEI.

But on a different level, the Shipwright’s Cafe is also a solitary voice because it is one of the relatively rare places in PEI’s rural areas offering fine (or at least finer) dining.

The Cafe operates out of a farmhouse originally built in the 1880s, and fits right in with the scenery. You could easily assume it was somebody’s old residence. A vegetable garden next to the house further reinforces the impression of something homy and old.

Inside, the wooden interiors and traditional furnishings lead you to expect that this is a place where you can get a no-nonsense meal of steak and potatoes.

You would be partially right. You can indeed get a good steak, as we learned when we dined at the Cafe recently with friends who are PEI residents. But that steak (the $32 “Shipwright’s Tournedos of Beef”) was, if you’ll pardon the pun, a cut above the usual pub or family restaurant fare because of the excellent red wine sauce and the perfectly roasted potatoes and the not-overdone vegetables.

But I am getting a little bit ahead of myself. Meals properly start with an appetizer, and one of the specials of the day — a large portobello mushroom stuffed with lobster, shrimp, vegetables, and a mysteriously delicious sauce — turned out to be the most spectacular part of the meal. Sadly, this succulent appetizer does not appear to be part of the regular menu, but if it were, the mushroom alone would be worth revisiting the Cafe.

The giant mushroom cast a huge shadow over my main course — a $32 lamb special (again not part of the regular menu) that turned out to be not so special because the slices were rubbery. Also, while the lamb portions were generous, the meal was served on a plate that seemed too small. The food was in constant danger of spilling off the plate.

Other members of our party had much better luck with their choice: a $22 roast chicken special that came with gravy and a tasty, tangy rhubarb compote. Once again, the vegetables, potatoes, and other sidings were done to perfection.

My dinner ended with a Kahlua pudding that was good but had almost imperceptible Kahlua flavour — yet another indication that, while much is right with the Shipwright Cafe, some aspects could stand improving.

Despite the less-than-perfect ending to the meal, the Shipwright’s Cafe experience was a positive one — primarily because the restaurant clearly has flair with at least some of its dishes and because it is refreshing to have an alternative to the seafood shacks, family restaurants, diners, and pubs that are the normal fare on this island province.

Singapore interlude: the best tofu pudding ever

Fri, 11 Mar 2011 11:29:00 -0500

This is the saddest picture I have ever taken. It is an empty plastic bowl in Singapore’s Chinatown. The bowl used to contain the best tofu pudding that I have ever tasted. (That’s tau huey to you if you’re Singaporean, or taho if you’re Filipino, and probably ta-what? if you’re gaijin, banyaga, or gweilo.) Purchased from a humble stall whose name I have stupidly forgotten. Soft, silky, delicately yet deliciously flavoured with some kind of colourless syrup. Enough for two to share, all for the princely sum of $1.20 (Singapore currency).

Gone now, all gone. *Sob*

Chewing up the Scenery in Manila. Zero Hour and the Oyster Cake

Tue, 08 Mar 2011 11:52:00 -0500

When an actor’s an absolute ham, he’s said to be chewing up the scenery. Prime scenery chewers: Rod Steiger, Kevin Kline, James Woods, and of course, William Shatner.

Add me and my friend to that list, although we didn’t have acting in mind when we went on a 12-hour eating binge recently in Manila, the Philippines. Rather, on a day that started out innocently like any other day, we suddenly developed cravings for certain foods and we simply had to have them right there and then.

Call it looking for comfort food, or attempting to relive the culinary joys of an ill-spent youth. Or maybe we were just very, very hungry. In any case, this was our version of chewing up the landscape.

First stop, zero hour of our binge: lunch at Maki House, a small Chinese restaurant serving Fukienese food. Top on our list: oyster cake — basically an oyster omelette, but with some secret starchy ingredient mixed in to give it a wonderfully sticky consistency. I’ve never found this dish in Toronto, which I now call home. But fortunately in Manila, the town I used to call home, it’s become easily available in recent years.

But there’s oyster cake and there’s oyster cake. I’ll cut to the chase and say that what we had at Maki House was the best I’ve had in a while. What was not to like? Lots of oysters, spring onions, bean sprouts, not too greasy, salted just right, and, at almost a foot in diameter of oystery and eggy goodness, of sufficient size to satisfy two overgrown Pacmen. And incredibly cheap, too, at PHP 170 (about $4).

[Addendum: My mother saw this picture and asked, “Why didn’t you show the oyster cake when it was whole?”. My answer: “Well, we’d already started eating.”]

Maki House serves other wonderful stuff out of the Fukienese cookbooks, like sauteed kidneys and machang, a triangular, fist-sized glob of glutinous rice stuffed with ingredients like pork and mushrooms. But for us, Maki House’s claim to fame is its oyster cake.

Later, as we burped our way to our next stop, my friend told me that he and his siblings had always sought out oyster cake because it reminded them of their late mother. In their minds, what they found was never as good as the dish their mother used to make. But it was nice to have it anyway because it brought back happy memories of her.

A special occasion is a great excuse for dining at Kaiseki...

Sat, 15 Jan 2011 14:31:00 -0500

Chopsticks, check. Appetite, check.

Miso broth. Scrumptious shrimp ball!

Fatty tuna, salmon,shrimp, scallop

Seared scallop was unbelievably good

Best enjoyed with a wooden spoon

Succulent duck, sweet water chestnut

Yellowtail was the star of the meal

Ox tongue -- eye-closingly delightful

Drinks include saki or vodka

A kind of yellowtail risotto

A special occasion is a great excuse for dining at Kaiseki Sakura, a Toronto restaurant that promotes the tradition of kaiseki — essentially relying on the variety of the seasons to provide the ingredients. Master Chef Daisuke once served the Japanese Imperial Family, so it’s not really a stretch to say that you can dine like a king (or emperor) here. The omakase or tastings menu is an 8-course wonder, and really consists of more than eight items, considering all the small delights served in between the actual courses. The omakase meal costs $90 ($40 more if choose an option to pair the entrees with sake). But it’s worth every penny if you want to make those memorable occasions even more memorable. As we sat enjoying our meal, we could look out the restaurant window and see a neighbourhood pizza shop offering a pizza meal for $4.99. We did the math and figured that we could have had 18 pizza meals each for the price of the Kaiseki Sakura meal. No contest. I’d take the Kaiseki Sakura meal any day. [SOB! Kaiseki Sakura is gone, apparently having closed in September 2011. Oh, the humanity!]

Ottawa: A Tale of Two Brunches (Part Two)

Sun, 03 Oct 2010 02:22:13 -0400

This account is a continuation of the Masked Diner’s recent brunch adventures in Ottawa.

Having had an excellent brunch at at Ottawa’s best-kept secret on a Saturday, MD crossed the street on Sunday to try out Murray Street’s version of the nation’s favourite in-between meal. Lest there be any confusion, (it should be pointed out that Murray Street, the establishment, is located on Murray Street, the, um, street.)

The place was full, but there was room at the inn — or at least, at the bar. MD and his companion tried out two items from what Murray Street’s menu blithely calls “That $13 Weekend Thing”. A hopeless sucker for duck, MD chose the cassoulet — in this case, molasses baked beans, duck confit, baked eggs, duck fat, and bread crumbs, served in a rustic iron skillet. It turned out to be a good choice, both delectable and filling.

MD’s fellow bruncher, meantime, enjoyed the Benedict Murray, a dish consisting of Canadian bacon, spicy sour cream, corn bread, a poached egg, and cheese sauce.

And, because of the previously-mentioned weakness for the anatine, MD also requested a side order of the duck liver mousse, which was served with sidings of crunchy bread and various pickled fruits and vegetables. As good as the main brunch dishes were, the mousse turned out to be the best part of the meal. Rich, yet understated — and definitely ducky.

The gustatory part of the visit was most satisfactory, but the informal atmosphere added to the pleasure of the experience, as well. The servers were friendly — and funny. When MD’s companion asked if she could take pictures of the place, one server deadpanned, “Yes, but I will have to charge you $10”.

This fictitious exorbitant charge notwithstanding, MD managed some photos that partially capture Murray Street’s homey charm, even if he did run out of colour digital film and had to switch to black and white.

Ottawa: A Tale of Two Brunches (Part One)

Sat, 18 Sep 2010 02:04:26 -0400

It’s not quite breakfast, it’s not quite lunch, but it comes with a slice of cantaloupe at the end.

That’s the famous definition of “brunch” from The Simpsons.

In Ottawa, the Masked Diner enjoyed another take on brunch at two places well worth visiting again — even if neither place served cantaloupe.

Benny’s Bistro (119 Murray Street, Ottawa) has been called one of Ottawa’s best-kept secrets, and you can see why from this picture.

The bistro is hidden away inside The French Baker, a popular Ottawa bakery. There is some minimalist signage for the bistro (you can see a small sandwich board sign in front of the entrance to the bakery), but if you were walking by, chances are you would notice only the bakery.

Those in the know, however, will walk right into the bakery and make their way through the easy-to-miss corridor that leads to the inner area that is Benny’s Bistro. It’s like walking into somebody’s (very large) kitchen, as there’s no physical separation of dining and cooking areas. The atmosphere is cozy, and the service is friendly and informal (so informal that your server, after clearing away your dishes, will empty the dregs of the meal into a garbage can in plain view of all the diners).

Benny’s ambience may be homey and pleasant, but it’s the food and the coffee that make it a worthwhile dining experience. You can get pretty standard brunch fare at Benny’s — an omelette, for example. But for the best Benny’s experience, choose from one of their creative brunch offerings instead — things like double creamed brie stuffed French toast, or organic forest mushroom & pearl barley risotto.

It was difficult to choose, but the Masked Diner finally settled for the C$16 savoury buckwheat pancake — essentially a wrap packed with smoked pork shoulder and shaved Gruyere cheese. The pancake, apparently pressed in one of those sandwich presses you find in panini shops, was topped with a sunnyside-up egg, and was served with a side of apple and Savoy cabbage salad.

It looks like a small meal, but looks are deceptive. (Want a standard large breakfast? Try Zak’s.) The pancake is not just tasty but is filling as well — and besides, you’re given a generous sampling of bread from The French Baker on the side.

Complementing the meal perfectly is a cup of Illy coffee (not included with the meal, but well worth the C$2.75, which also gives you free refills). In MD’s experience, not all Illy coffee is created (or brewed) equal, but at Benny’s, they apparently do it right — even if the coffee is served from one of those accursed coffee dispensers with the push tops (usually a sure sign of mediocre coffee at chain coffee shops).

If you’re in Ottawa and have a hankering for brunch with a little more culinary flair than your favourite diner, Benny’s is a secret well worth discovering.

The Masked Diner's MENU OF THE DAY Award

Fri, 17 Sep 2010 23:55:00 -0400

At the start of what turned out to be an amazing dinner at Restaurant Toast! in Quebec City, the Masked Diner had to laugh out loud when he opened the menu. There, beside the day’s specials, was a page entitled “Allergies? Let’s talk about it!”, with messages from the owner and the chef. See below for the messages:

Restaurant Toast! serves fantastic and imaginative food (much of it involving generous servings of foie gras!), and offers a relaxed ambience and friendly service — but the feather in its cap is that it obviously doesn’t take itself too seriously. Here’s a toast to Toast!

Cottaging from a Can

Fri, 20 Aug 2010 17:08:00 -0400

The Masked Diner flew off to Prince Edward Island for a quick summer break. Ye Olde Summer Home is well stocked, but with no opportunity yet to go grocery shopping, MD had to make do with whatever was in the pantry. Foraged: a can of Spam and a can of corn. Time for a variant of MD’s time-tested favourite, Spam with fried diced potatoes and onions. No potatoes, and no onions, but cottagers can’t be choosers, right? Result shown below, seasoned with pepper (which worked nicely) and chili flakes (not so much).

"No matter where you go, there you are."

Fri, 20 Aug 2010 12:55:13 -0400

“No matter where you go, there you are.”

- Zen saying, by way of Buckaroo Banzai

Boylan Root Beer So there I am, enjoying a cold Coke, dining...

Sun, 25 Jul 2010 00:35:00 -0400

Boylan Root Beer

So there I am, enjoying a cold Coke, dining with my cousin the paramedic. “That stuff will mess you up,” he says to me, perhaps his way of telling me to enjoy the drink, because it might be my last.

Coke and other popular soft drinks use high-fructose corn syrup, he explains. It’s a highly-processed product, even if natural sugars are used at the start of the process. People are starting to link high-fructose corn syrup with obesity and liver damage.

Fortunately for me, my cousin has a replacement drink for me, should I choose to follow his advice. It’s a root beer made using cane sugar rather than something grown in a vat. And that’s how I learn about Boylan Root Beer.

Of course, no food-lover in his right mind settles for a drink that’s merely healthy (or at least healthier than the alternatives). The thing had darned well better taste good, too. No problem there: I find Boylan delicious, with just the right mix of bite and sweetness (the good cane sugar variety, natch).

Mind you, one man’s root beer is another man’s yucky drink, so your mileage may vary. And some people sure take their root beer really seriously. Nevertheless, if you’re looking for a cold drink that’s healthier (in moderation) than the major pop brands, Boylan is worth a try.

MD's Favourite Foods in Toronto: A Mound of Eggplant at Mustachio's

Sat, 26 Jun 2010 03:28:25 -0400

I love eggplant. So, naturally, I love the eggplant sandwich at Mustachio’s, a sandwich bar at the basement level of Toronto’s Saint Lawrence Market. The fried eggplant sandwich (about $6) is a mountainous mass of sliced, fried, breaded eggplant, mingling with mushrooms, caramelized onions, roasted and hot peppers, and tomato sauce between two pieces of bread (your choice of a Kaiser bun or focaccia).

The star of the show is the eggplant, and in the many dozen Mustachio’s sandwiches I must have consumed by now, it has never put in a poor performance. Mustachio’s eggplant is always succulent on the inside, the texture just right — and, as any eggplant lover knows, eggplant is all about the texture.

After all, the only thing worse than having no eggplant at all is to have improperly cooked eggplant. Done wrong, eggplant can be too dry, too tough, too stringy. Not so at Mustachio’s, where, happily, it always seems to be just right.

I’ve never weighed one of these monster sandwiches (one of these days, I should, if I can stop myself from stuffing it into my mouth right away), but is a hefty meal, indeed — definitely enough for two people. I usually share the sandwich with my son, who is not that crazy about eggplant — except when I offer him half of this sandwich. Once in a while, though, the Evil Eggplant-loving Dad in me wins out, and I chomp down on the whole thing myself.

I should add that Mustachio’s also serves other sandwiches. Their chicken and eggplant sandwiches have received high praise, as have their veal and eggplant ones. I cannot vouch for those other sandwiches, though, because I have never had one. Nor am I likely to. Every time I go to Mustachio’s, the call of the eggplant overwhelms the urge to try any other food. Why waste precious stomach space with chicken or veal, when it can be dedicated instead to more eggplant?

Having sung nothing but praises for this excellent sandwich, I should note that there are a few discordant notes — not from me, mind you, but from others who have reviewed Mustachio’s in food blogs. Some people complain that the sandwich is so large that it’s impossible to bite into. Others say that it’s a hopelessly messy meal. Yet others complain that the batter soaks up too much oil, and that the tomato sauce is bland. Actually, those complaints are valid. Guilty as charged. But as far as I’m concerned, I’m not looking for elegant cuisine and brilliant sauces when I eat at Mustachio’s. I am looking for — and always find — the tastiest fried eggplant sandwich in the city.

With apologies to The Pretenders, whose “My City was...

Sat, 12 Jun 2010 21:17:00 -0400

I went back to Toronto

But my city was gone

There was no train station

There was no downtown

With apologies to The Pretenders, whose “My City was Gone” lyrics I appropriated for my purposes. Toronto disappeared under fog the past two days, making for gloomy times indeed — constant reminders of why I don’t live in Vancouver. (OK, I don’t know if it actually gets foggy in Vancouver, but it does rain a lot, which is almost the same thing.)

Big Yellow Suitcase, or One Last Trip with My Loyal Lojel

Wed, 09 Jun 2010 17:52:00 -0400

I just disposed of my old, beaten-up, huge, bright yellow suitcase – but before I did, I made one last trip with it.

The suitcase came with my family when we migrated to Canada some 15 years ago. The Lojel – for that was the brand of the suitcase as well as our affectionate name for it — was a humongous piece of luggage made in Japan. Made of a tough hard plastic material that managed to weather most of the wear and tear of our various trips, the Lojel was roomier than any suitcase I’ve ever seen – so spacious that, one time, my daughter, then perhaps 14 or 15, was able to curl up and lie inside it). It was the executive suite of suitcases, with the carrying capacity of perhaps 1.5 times the standard piece of baggage.

But the day had come for the Lojel to go. Its locks were finally on the verge of snapping after years of valorously holding back full loads that threatened to explode out of the bag. Its tiny wheels had worn out to the point that it made more sense to carry the bag than to roll it. And as the kids grew up and we traveled less as a family, there was simply less need to have such an oversized piece taking up space in the trunks of today’s ever shrinking taxicabs.

Saying a final goodbye to this loyal friend, I noticed that there was a piece of paper taped to the inside of the top lid. It turned out to be a checklist of the items that the Lojel had held when we made the Big Move to our new country. The list was labeled “Lojel 2”, reminding me that we had once had two of these giant suitcases. The first one had finally succumbed to the gentle ministrations that baggage handlers the world over are so famous for, and had developed a crack.

The list was a snapshot of who we were, the items serving as clues to the kind of brave or foolhardy people who had opted to change countries in midstream.

“3 packs of Tintin” referred to my wife’s collection more than a dozen Hergé books, most of them in hardcover. Some of these had suffered water damage from a tropical storm, but there was no way they were going to be left back in the old country. (Packed away in the hand-carry luggage when we moved to Canada was another Hergé work: a letter that the famous cartoonist had written to my wife when she was a young girl, a letter accompanied by a personalized drawing of Tintin and Snowy.)

The “Father Brown Omnibus” (by G.K. Chesterton), a collection of superb mystery stories with a spiritual and philosophical bent, was another book from the old library, an elegant Penguin Books edition that we refused to leave behind — even if we could no doubt obtain another copy in the bigger bookshops of our brave new world.

And “Goedel, Escher, and Bach” (by Douglas Hofstadter) referred to perhaps the most obtusely brilliant book I have ever owned. Owned, not read. I bought the book, which discusses beauty and form in math, art, and music, in the early 1980’s, while on a trip to the US. I read it with gusto for perhaps the first 100 pages before it overwhelmed me with its complexity. Not to be defeated, I packed the book into the Lojel, determined to finish it in the new country.

The “Uncanny X-Men” item referred to a small portion of my comic collection. Comics were more expensive and harder to come by in the old country – and perhaps because of this, these particular copies were valuable enough to me to bring along, even if I could get comics cheaper and more easily in Canada.

That was us: we loved our books, and were willing to lug them with us when we started a new life. Most of the books on the Lojel 2 list are still with us today, occupying places of honour in our floor-to-ceiling bookcase in the living room (another story for another time).

You can’t live on books alone, of course. You have to eat. We recognized this, apparently, since the Lojel 2 list included “eight plates”, “chopsticks”, “4 knives”, and a “cork fruit bowl”. To the best of my recollection, the plates survived the long trip, and may very well still be in use today. The “cork fruit bowl” made it intact, too, and, remarkably, holds North American fruit just as well as Asian fruit.

The grey undershirt and various socks on the list were nostalgic reminders that our children were just eight and three years old when we migrated. The “winter jacket” was a particularly poignant memory: coming from a tropical country, how prepared could we possibly have been for a wintry country? We did our best, but I’m sure that our initial “winter jacket” was soon replaced by something that offered more protection from the Canadian winter.

After I had gone through all the items on the Lojel 2 list, I had the distinct sense of having traveled again. The Lojel was ready to join the big baggage bin in the sky, but as it turned out, my big yellow suitcase had had one last trip left in it, after all: a trip back to those callow days when one family’s new life was just beginning. Thanks, big yellow buddy.

Black Pig Meets Japanese Noodles and Toronto Tourist at NYC's Menchanko-tei

Mon, 31 May 2010 13:11:04 -0400

Great things can happen when British pig meets Japanese noodle. I found this out for myself at the Menchanko-tei Japanese Restaurant in New York City. The restaurant had been highly recommended to me by a friend in Toronto who had lived in Japan for a spell and is a purist when it comes to Japanese food.

Knowing my love for pork bone soup (tonkotsu), my friend had told me to try the Kurobota Hakata Ramen. It turned out to be the best advice ever to have issued forth from the mouth of man, and one of the best dishes ever to have entered the mouth of this man.

Menchanko-tei’s Kurobota Hakata Ramen combines perfectly-made ramen noodles in a deeply tasty and murky broth made from pork bone, along with black mushrooms, soft-boiled egg, red ginger, scallions, and — as if all those ingredients were not enough — two slices of moist, tender, marbled Berkshire pork.

Berkshire pork comes from a breed of black pig originating in Britain. Never mind where it comes from, though. What the foodie really cares about is that it’s überpork: it’s juicy, flavourful, tender, and (very important!) heavily marbled. Imagine this wondrous meat mixing it up with perfect broth and noodles, and you get an idea what the dish tastes like.

In Toronto, I get my tonkotsu fix at Kenzo Ramen. The Menchanko-tei version is spicier (probably thanks to the plentiful red ginger), and of course, features Berkshire pork (which, to my knowledge at least, isn’t part of the Kenzo offering).

My cousin, who accompanied me on multiple visits to Menchanko-tei, loves shoyu ramen, so he tried the Kurobota Shoyu Ramen. A former manager of a Japanese restaurant, he immediately pronounced the noodles to be “authentic”, and promptly became a Berkshire pork fanboy, as well. (The next few days we went looking for Berkshire pork in New York’s butcher shops and ultimately found the black pig at Ottomanelli Brothers.)

In the midst of this extreme pork lovefest, it should also be mentioned that Menchanko-tei offers great appetizers and side dishes as well. Particularly good are the ika maruyaki (grilled squid done to just the right tenderness and served with ginger) and the agedashi tofu (tofu tempura served in a broth and topped with fresh bonito flakes).

All this great food is served in a lounge-like setting (all New York eateries seem to have a bar) that’s cozy if not super-efficiently laid out (according to my critical former-restaurateur cousin). The food is authentic, and the staff, while not Japanese (Indonesian is more like it), is friendly and efficient. Sit at the bar or at the small tables; it doesn’t matter. All you need is a place to park your stomach while it awaits the food.

Before I wrapped up my New York trip, I had one last dinner (sob!) at Menchanko-tei, this time taking along a friend who had worked at an embassy in Japan. “This is like eating in Japan!” she declared, as she tucked into her shoyu noodles. Japan meets UK meets NYC. It’s all good.