Pan Asian

Last night's supper did double duty: healthy enough to meet the requirements of a new year's resolution with enough heat to banish the winter's cold and darkness. First, crispy sesame-crusted cubes of tofu with a spicy dipping sauce derived from Momofuku's Red Dragon Sauce (recipe here; I used gochujang red pepper paste and rice vinegar), followed up with kimchi fried rice, all topped with a healthy glug of sriracha (hope you've stocked up).

When we make tofu, we usually just marinate it and bake it to crispness in the oven, but this might be my new favourite preparation. Next time, I'll use bigger pieces (the cubes are kind of a pain to dredge) and add a little something extra like shichimi tōgarashi to the breading for a little kick.

Sesame-Crusted Tofu
Serves 2
1 lb. (about) extra-firm tofu
1 egg
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
3 tablespoons panko bread crumbs
2 tablespoons white sesame seeds
1 tablespoon black sesame seeds
canola oil for frying
sliced scallions for garnish)

1. Drain the tofu as much as possible. Beat the egg and a teaspoon of water in a small flat bottomed bowl or dish. Stir together the salt, panko and sesame seeds on a plate.

2. Slice the tofu, then cut into large, but bite-sized cubes. Working with one piece at a time, submerge the tofu into the egg, then dredge in the sesame-panko mix, and set aside.

3. Heat a large nonstick frying pan over medium-high heat. When it’s hot, add about tablespoon of oil. Fry the tofu in batches until crispy and brown on all sides. Garnish with scallions and serve with dipping sauce.

That yolk isn't runny anymore

When I was a kid, I liked eggs cooked all kinds of ways, as long as it was sunny-side up. I’d bust the yolks with the edge of my heavily buttered toast, scoop it up, eat it and call it a day, leaving the whites behind. I’m not sure where that little poultry penchant came from, but for years that was how I ate my eggs.

Now, I’m a lot more appreciative of the versatility of the humble ouef. Scrambled, poached, and fried: it’s all good. And now: baked.

Going green

We’re two weeks removed from our return from Germany (with a short stop in France). The trip was great: good times were had with friends and family, sights were seen and much art, soccer and, of course, beer was consumed. And we ate. In Berlin, we grabbed late night doner kebab to soak up the night’s revelries. In Munich, I tried schweinebraten, a Bavarian dish of slow-roasted pork served with cabbage and potato dumplings. That was great. In Freiburg, we ate schnitzel in the sunshine of the terrace at a country winery and washed it down with an array of dazzling whites. And in Strasbourg we ate coq au Riesling, a ham hock roughly the size of an infant’s cranium and a savoury crème brûlée made with custard and foie gras. You know: light cuisine.

Dan Dan duo

Travel to just about any small town in the praries and chances are you'll find, tucked in among the post office or hardware store, a Chinese restaurant. These usually kitschy, lantern and dragon-festooned little outposts of the exotic are both interesting historical quirk and accidental multicultural success. Many of these small, family run places can trace their roots back to the Chinese labourers who built the Canadian Pacific Railway and subsequently spread out across the country and for whom cooking was one of the few businesses opportunities afforded them.

These places served a mixture of western food -hamburgers, pork chops, french fries and the like-but over the years they began including heavily westernized "Chinese food" (another quirk was calling these places "smorgs" after the Scandinavian "smörgåsbord" buffet.)  For many Canadians, sticky, saucy and sweet dishes like lemon chicken, sweet and sour pork and ginger beef were their first and sometimes only encounter with any form of ethnic cuisine. (This article from the Walrus at explores the history of Chiense food in Caanda and the authenticity debate a bit further.)

The prairie Chinese smorg is slowly vanishing, but you can see a similar process of the cultural exchange that gave us chicken balls at work in the work of places like San Fransisco's Mission Chinese Food (helmed by a Korean-born American who re-interperets Chinese dishes for western palates) and in home kitchens of people like me and the Swedish Chef. Just last week, we both ended up making versions of dandan mian, a classic Chinese Sichuan noodle dish. Two differnt white guys making two different recipes derived from the same dish; what happened?

Not easy eating greens

A regular feature of my weekday is the “what’s on for dinner for you tonight?” e-mail exchange with the Swedish Chef. Here’s an excerpt from this week as I head into a meatless mealtime.

Me: I'm not even caring about dinner tonight. Eating vegetarian is the worst.

SC: You're going veg tonight? I'll be thinking of you as I chow down on pork tenderloin. It's funny how quickly our healthy choices become regrettable decisions.

Me: Yeah, we've got vegetarian pasta on tap. Just can't get excited for it.

S.C: I don't know in what situation one would be "excited" for vegetarian pasta.

Me: If you just got out of a Japanese P.O.W. camp?

S.C: "If I have to look at ONE MORE bowl of rotten rice, I ... Ooh! Lasagna!"

Housecleaning

This past couple of weeks have been, even by my standards, pretty heavy on the meat and wheat-based beverages. We just came back from a weekend in Montréal and between the Blanche de Chamblay, the Fairmont Bagels, and the Schwartz's, the work week dawned with me feeling more than a little sluggish and bloated. At times like these, a brief dietary digression can go a long way to restoring the balance.

Little green monsters

This is a strange admission for a food blogger to make, but I don’t exactly have the world’s most adventurous palette. I’m certain I’ve mentioned this little factoid before, but it’s a recurring theme in my life (and it extends to other facets of life, like music, books and film; but I digress). The pattern is usually the same. I greet new things with indifference, if not outright hostility. Eventually, I’ll cave to pressure and give the item a half-hearted sampling. Then, if I like what I taste/see/hear, I will embrace the former object of suspicion with the zeal of a convert. It has happened before, it will happen again.

Stop for salad

D. has recently started volunteering at The Stop Community Food Centre, one of North America’s first food banks and a vibrant community centre that comes complete with kitchen space and a good-sized working greenhouse.

The Stop’s mission is to use food as a gateway to address issues like poverty, the environment, social isolation, and health in one of Toronto’s lowest-income neighbourhoods. D.’s work with the afterschool program sees her helping kids between 8 and 12 learn about cooking, how to read food labels, with a dash of food politics thrown in. It sounds like a lot of fun, and it’s the kind of gig where I don’t mind if she brings work home with her. This salad she made with the kids on her first day, for example, was a big hit there and at home.

Salt of the earth

Spring is starting to slowly shoulder winter aside and the longer days and the disappearing snows speak a promise of sunlight and crisp fresh vegetables. But we’re not there, not yet.

Last night, a grey and cool Sunday night suddenly turned ugly as torrents of sleet and rain made what should have been a pleasant, slightly tipsy bike ride into a mad, wet dash for warmth. A week ago, we got a mid-week dump of snow that had me pining for the cherry blossoms that are no doubt in full bloom back in Vancouver. Something about that reminded me of this salt-roasted potato recipe I’d been interested in trying out.

Squash it to me

As you can probably guess by the content of most of my recipes, I’m a committed and wholly unrepentant carnivore. I grew up in a meat and potatoes household and, like many North Americans, I never came close to hitting the recommended allotment of vegetables growing up. Part of it was the lack of availability of fresh vegetables at the time and a large part of it was my own extreme pickiness.

I’m a lot better at eating my veggies than I used to be. I always make sure I have something green or root-y on my plate or close to it.  Sometimes — and this is a big deal — I even cook vegetarian mains. And enjoy them. Don't get me wrong: I'm not about to run off and join those pricks at PETA, but there's nothing like filling your stomach while filling yourself with a sense of smug satisfaction at the same time.