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So it looks as though my husband has a rather heavy workload this week, and it’s up to me (as my schedule has been a little light for the first time in a very long time) to pick up the cooking duties. I thought I’d start the week with some baked oatmeal—an old standby of mine—and I posted a photo of the results on Twitter. Since I’ve received a request to share the recipe, here it is. And you know that if I made it, it’s going to be easy…

I used these two recipes as the basis for my own version and, after futzing around with the ingredients, I’ve found a happy medium that is cheap, tasty, and nutritious. I even make a few batches of the dry ingredients and keep them in little plastic containers for when I’m feeling lazy but want to impress the husband with a warm, baked breakfast. Since the base is so flexible, you can basically do what you want with it, so I’ve included a few options.

Vegan Warning: None! Unless you use non-vegan ingredients (which I’ve listed for your convenience). If you’re allergic to nuts, don’t use nuts. And so on. The vegan options are lower in fat and will result in a chewier texture. I’ve highlighted the options I use most often in bold italics, in case you care.

Baked Oatmeal Base
1 1/2 cups quick oats
1/2 mashed banana (or 1 egg)
1/2 cup fat-free soy milk (or regular milk)
1/4 cup unsweetened applesauce (or melted butter)
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 cup brown sugar (or honey—you could go up to 1/2 cup if you like things really sweet)
Optional Ingredients
A few shakes of cinnamon and/or random 1/2-cup handfuls of the following: walnuts, currants, raisins, chopped apples, raw sunflower seeds, flax seeds, chocolate chips… be creative!
Heat oven to 350°F. Spray an 8-inch square baking pan (or 6 muffin tins) with cooking spray (or, if you use silicone like I do, don’t). Combine wet and dry ingredients separately before adding to each other. Mix completely and pour into pan (or tins). Bake for 25-30 minutes (20-25 minutes for muffins), turning pan once during baking, until edges brown. Makes 4 generous servings (or 6 rather filling muffins).

I made the muffin version for the first time today with currants (as I often do) and raw sunflower seeds (which are cheaper than walnuts from Strictly Bulk), and I was pretty pleased with the result. Drizzled with vanilla yogurt, it looks pretty impressive for the lack of effort that goes into them. Feel free to try it out for yourself, and let me know how it goes.

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As a Toronto resident, I was fortunate enough to have enjoyed the recent garbage strike (please excuse the sarcasm dripping from this sentence); now that it’s over, the legacy remains in my kitchen in the form of the dreaded fruit fly.

Now, those who enjoy bananas in the summer without air conditioning are likely intimately aware of  these pesky fiends with their tiny, quickly propagating ways so, when I found them circling my green bin in the kitchen, I knew I had to spring into action—and what better way to go about it than via the cheapest possible route?

First, I looked online for a non-chemical remedy; then, of course, I had to make it my own…

Vegan Warning: None—unless you have something against apples… or fruit flies.

The Killing Bar
1 shot glass (mine was personalized—if yours is not, it may not work)
2 tablespoons of cider vinegar
1 drop of dish soap (I used grapefruit… fruity!)
Fill shot glass 1/3 full with cider vinegar. Add a drop of dish soap. Place near the cloud of fruit flies (or an approximation thereof… I placed mine atop my stove). Change vinegar every 1-2 days, depending on intensity of infestation.

In semi-technical terms, fruit flies enjoy cider vinegar; when provided with it, they can drink what they like and escape without fear of compunction (which would normally necessitate the need for plastic wrap with holes poked in it). However, when a small amount of soap is introduced, the surface tension is compromised, effectively sucking the buggers into the mire. In the immortal word of Thomas Dolby: “SCIENCE!”

I didn’t need to cover my glass with (wasteful) plastic wrap, nor did I need to poke holes in said cover, and my fruit-fly issue was inconsequential enough that it only took me less than a week to rid myself of my own personal scourge; of course, I ensured that my green bin was thoroughly rinsed with bleach as soon as I noticed the minutest trace of rice-shaped larvae inside (remember to remain vigilant of this evil indication).

It was almost spooky how interested I was in counting the tiny corpses that collected in the bottom of the glass, not to mention how disappointed I was when they were no longer accruing after a few days. The spookiest thing of all, however, was the fact that I was pitching a holy hissy fit earlier this week about my unwelcome guests and, now, I don’t even think about them—because they’re gone. It’s like the whole sordid affair never occurred.

Really, that’s about it. It honestly worked for me, and any lingering smell of cider vinegar (which didn’t bother me too much) far outweighed the alternative of hosting these hated critters indefinitely.

What were your results?

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If you’re looking for a place that seems to have bought their inside signage from a Second Cup closing sale, you’ve found it. Sure, they sell a different brand of coffee, but they offer the same baked goods—they do have sandwiches, however, and a cute African violet in the side window.

We had chai lattes and one of those saran-wrapped chocolate chunk cookies that cause you to gain ten pounds by thinking about it. The lattes were quite nice; not being a denizen of overpriced coffee shops, I’m not sure if $2.29 is a bit much for a small (like Tim Horton’s dixie-cup small, if you get my drift). Unfortunately, we did not eat the cookie whilst we were there because my husband lost his appetite.

I had gone downstairs to use the washroom, which must had just been cleaned if the suds in the toilet and reek of disinfectant were any indication. My husband was sitting at the table, facing an elderly couple at another table. The wife appeared to have been having some coughing issues before she suddenly PUKED ALL OVER THE TABLE. Her husband ran for some newspapers to clean it up and ushered her out of the restaurant. The two people working there DID NOTHING. They didn’t ask her if she was okay, and they certainly didn’t offer any serviettes. The small children seated behind us, I was later told, were HORRIFIED.

I must have taken my sweet time in the washroom because I missed all the fun and was spared the gory details until we had left. The employees didn’t move from behind the counter the whole time we were there.

Hey—I’m not saying that it’s their fault that someone puked in their establishment. I just really hope someone eventually cleaned that table. However, because it didn’t happen before we left, I don’t think I’ll be going back at any point in the near future.

Bloor Sweet Cafe
641 Bloor Street W
Toronto, ON M6G 1L1
(416) 516-9458

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This is NOT the kind of place you want to go to if you’re a denizen of the Drake nor if you’re a fan of dressing in club-kid gear and being seen (though, if you go for the club gear, you’ll likely be mocked). However, if you’re into homoerotic UFC (Saturdays) or insulting karaoke (Thursdays) coupled with cheap drinks and passable pub munchies, you may have found your new watering hole.

The main reason why I like this place is that I’m not a fan of pretense, and this place lacks it in spades. Sure, you get more than the occasional emo hipster skulking around in girlfriend jeans and an ironic t-shirt, but you’re not treated like a second-class citizen if you aren’t doing it yourself.

You might not want to go there for a quick drink or meal (read: slow service), but it’s a great place to just chill with a friend or two for the evening; you can even hear conversations sometimes. Besides, I’d much rather receive crap service from people who are a little absentminded and inexperienced than from people who just treat you like crap because they’re a wicked awesome barmaid at a pretentious art bar and you’re NOT. My group is a diverse mix of ages, sexes, and orientations, and we’re all welcomed here.

Oh, and the washrooms aren’t the cleanest. You want pristine toilets? Don’t go to a bar named after canine privates.

Update: I went back there last night (Friday) for a bite before the girls and I went to a movie. The veggie burger with fries was a satisfying $5.99; however, it is a GRAIN PATTY, not soy. If you’re into that kind of thing, knock yourself out—I’m not a fan of them myself. But my friend (who had never been there before) mentioned the deplorable washroom conditions, which made me giggle.

Oh, and we came back for a post-movie drink only to find that Fridays are drunken-whore-college-kid night. Again, if that’s your bag, go nuts. But even if you’re not one of them, you won’t feel uncomfortable there—just maybe slightly annoyed.

The Dog’s Bollocks
817 Queen St W
Toronto, ON M6J 1G1
(416) 800-1594

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In honour of Earth Day, and not only because I had three articles published in the centre-page spread of today’s Metro (click here to read it!), I’d like to introduce you to the tiffin tin.

After watching an episode of Kitchen Nightmares in which Gordon Ramsay introduced a restaurant to the joys of offering a tiffin service, I did a little Googling. I discovered that tiffins are used extensively in India, where housewives pack nutritious lunches for their husbands and send them off in colour-coded tins to be delivered by dabbawallas to their workplaces.

I’ve also been hearing lately about plastic leaching (apparently, when you heat food in some plastic containers, you run the risk of chemicals getting transferred into your food). And for those of you who like a little spice in your lunch, you know how smelly your Tupperware can get—especially if you use it to store this soup. Since I’m looking into transitioning from freelance work into an in-house position, these two facts are relevant to my interests, so I decided to source me some lunch-toting options.

While I found some interesting tiffins online through Amazon and the like, I thought I’d look for some local distributors of these stainless-steel wonders. Little India, of course, sells them in abundance but, as a west-end girl, I was delighted to discover that they were to be found in Chinatown. The next time I was in the Spadina/Dundas area, I jumped at the chance to seek my treasure.

I picked up the smallest tiffin I could find at Tap Phong on Spadina for $12.99 (two tiers—each tier holds one litre) and happily skipped home with my purchase. (By the way, if you’re in the area, they sell two- and three-tier tiffins in two sizes for under 20 bucks each. They also sell more ornate carved ones, but they looked like they were made of actual tin, and I didn’t check their prices.)

The first thing I did (after excitedly telling my brother-in-law Sean about it over the phone because I’m a nerd) was pour some water into each tier, close it up, and give it a good shake. I’ve read that steel tiffins aren’t exactly watertight—and mine was no exception. While it didn’t shoot mad amounts of liquid in all directions, the resulting random sprinkle indicated to me that, if I wanted soup, I’d be better served by investing in a vacuum flask. It didn’t matter much to me, though—I bought it so I could put bean salad in the bottom and either a bagel or some veg in the top, and I wasn’t planning on commuting to work via centrifuge.

Of course, because I work from home, I haven’t had the opportunity to try it out in a real-world situation yet but, for storing leftovers in the fridge (nothing too acidic for too long, mind you), it’s fantastic. I’m hoping to goad my in-laws into meeting us for one of our infamously large meals at Saigon Gourmet soon, so I can use it as a doggie bag. However, the next time I plan to be in a situation where I either need to tote some food or pick up some take-out, you know I’ll be lugging this thing along with an eco-charged smirk of self satisfaction.

For those of you interested in sourcing one online, To-Go Ware sells them alongside some great sustainable accessories (including cute little carrier bags  if you don’t feel like using the handle). If you’re looking for a four-tiered model, Lee Valley sells one, oddly enough, as a storage container for nails and stuff but, for 15 bucks, you can’t go wrong (and they have three Toronto retail locations, no less)!

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It was non-Orthodox Easter this past weekend, and I felt like baking something for the Sunday shindig at my mom’s house. It couldn’t be from a mix (because my nephew has a crazy peanut allergy) and I didn’t have any butter. So I searched for cocoa and applesauce and found a low-fat brownie recipe on the Hershey’s site (and a frosting recipe—you can’t show up at someone’s house with unfrosted brownies). Again, I had to get all fancy and futz around with the recipe (I didn’t have vanilla, either), so here’s my spin…

Vegan Warning: Eggs. I didn’t have any brown bananas as a substitute and, since it was for company, I didn’t want to risk screwing it up. Also, diabetes. You could use Splenda, but I don’t even want to think about the insane stomach cramps that would be caused by the amount you’d need.

Brownies:
1 cup white or brown sugar (I used a mixture of both—the more brown sugar you use, the denser the brownies will be)
2/3 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup cocoa (plus more for dusting)
1/2 cup applesauce (shake the jar first so it’s not too wet or dry)
1 egg
Cooking spray
Heat oven to 350°F. Spray an 8-inch square baking pan with cooking spray and dust with cocoa powder. Combine sugar, flour and cocoa in big bowl. Mix the applesauce and egg together before adding to dry ingredients; beat until well blended (don’t be discouraged at how dry it looks at first; it’ll come together eventually). Spread batter into prepared pan. Bake 25 minutes or until edges are firm. Flip bottom-side-up onto cutting board; cool completely.

Frosting:
3 Tbsp. vegetable oil
1/3 cup cocoa
1 1/3 cup confectioners’ sugar
2 to 3 Tbsp. water
Combine everything but the water. Beat until crumbly. Add the water, a bit at a time, and beat until spreading consistency (not quite cake icing consistency, though—it needs to be a wee bit denser). If it’s not enough water, add more—a tiny bit at a time. Frost brownies immediately because the icing sets pretty quickly. Makes 16 brownies.

Each brownie has approximately 4 grams of fat (a regular brownie averages 9). If you don’t frost them, it goes down to 2 grams—but, really… it’s a brownie.

So how did they go over? Well, not only did I have none left over from two batches, but my brother-in-law (who is a professional cook) also asked me for the recipe! Even after I told him they were low in fat!

Yes, I rock.

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I was jonesing for baked calzone but, since it was approaching 8 p.m., cheese wasn’t a good idea (not only because of the fat content—dairy tends to disagree with me in the evenings because I’m old and lame). I also didn’t have the patience for yeast, and the corner bakery that usually supplies me with pizza dough was closed. So off to the Internet I went!

I jury-rigged a Bisquick pizza dough recipe I found here (not enough water, and I used my own biscuit mix), opened a jar of Classico Roasted Portobello Mushroom pasta sauce, enlisted my husband’s mad veg-chopping skills, and prepared myself for some hot calzone action…

Vegan Warning: Milk. It’s in the biscuit mix. If you want an alternate recipe, make this one with water instead of milk (I haven’t tried it, though—it’s full of salad oil, whatever that is).

Clone Calzone
1 cup Bistrick (plus a little extra for dusting—click here for the recipe)
1/3 cup hot water (or more, as needed)
1 cup various sliced toppings (red onion, mushrooms, spinach, etc.)
1/3 cup pasta/pizza sauce (just enough to coat the toppings)
Preheat oven to 425°F. add hot water to Bistrick and mix until it forms a ball. Knead lightly, roll into a very thin circle on a lightly dusted cutting board, and transfer circle to a parchment-lined cookie sheet. Combine toppings with sauce. Spoon topping mixture onto half of the dough circle, keeping a 1-inch area around the edges. Fold dough over, rolling edges up to seal. Bake for 13 minutes.

I doubled the recipe and added more sauce (so we could split one big one into two servings); this taught me two lessons. First, too much sauce equals lots of hot, squirty liquid, which is not very fun. Second, even though the dough cooked all the way through, the toppings didn’t—this would be less of a problem with smaller calzones. Oh, and rolling the dough as thinly as possible is important; it doesn’t have to be paper-thin but, because the dough contains baking powder, it will puff up in the oven.

All told, I couldn’t believe how close to a calzone it seemed. Even my skeptical husband agreed that the cheese wasn’t missed. Really, when it comes with calzone, anything less than a hyperbolic ton of cheese is barely noticible anyway. And it’s huge, filling, and low in fat!

You’re welome.

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Drake, I want to like you for so many reasons. I’ve certainly given you enough chances to plead your case.

I think it’s great that you’re trying to revitalize the west-of-Queen-West area and push the crackheads out of Parkdale. I really do. I lived in the area for long enough to develop an affinity for the place. But do you have to be so painfully pretentious about it? And by pretentious, I mean… sorry… I can’t really put it any other way.

I’ve been by for a corporate party in the main lounge, a birthday shindig in the rooftop patio area, and live karaoke in the basement (they only seem to call up people they know, and multiple times at that)—and every time I’ve gone, I’ve been left with a mild case of hipster cooties and wondering what possessed me to go in the first place.

I feel so mean for saying all this. I’m sure you’re great for young kids who want to be seen in an arty/swanky atmosphere and for old types who want to be seen with said kids, but I just couldn’t get into your scene; it just seemed like such a concentrated effort to be unpretentious that failed, leaving your denizens to wallow in their own irony—and not in a witty way. Like the lead singer of a one-hit ’80s band who invites their Facebook fan club to his apartment and the 18-year-olds who think that, by hanging out with the guy, they’ll be cool like he once was, you just have an air of sad desperation about you. And if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s people who try to hide their desperation behind a mask of hipster irony. Wear it loud and proud, for heaven’s sake!

On a positive note, your photo booth costs less than the one at Bloor Station… see? I thought of something nice to say. I just couldn’t leave things on a sour note.

It’s not you, Drake; it’s me. I just think you’re a bit of a DB, is all. Sorry.

Drake Hotel
1150 Queen St W
Toronto, ON M6J 1J3
(416) 531-5042

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I was visiting my family one day when, at the table, my five-year-old nephew suddenly made this inhuman rumbling noise like he was channeling a cement mixer, only it was coming from his sinuses. I turned to him and said, “Dude—you should get a Neti pot.”

“What’s that?” he said.

“Well, it’s a little teapot that you put salt water in and you stick it up your nose and pour it into one nostril and it comes out the other end and then you won’t make those insane noises.”

My sister looked in the direction of the inappropriate dinner conversation and didn’t seem surprised that it was coming from me. “Well,” she said, stifling her laughter, “that’s attractive!”

“Well, maybe I’ll try it out and let you know how it goes,” I said half-jokingly.

That weekend, Karma laid one on me. I got the flu.

A few days later, I found myself stuffed up, feverish, and staring blearily at a sale flyer in front of a wall of cold remedies at the Pharma Plus. Swaying slightly, my eyes focused suddenly on a 20% off ad for NeilMed sinus products. Neti pot? Sale? Mmkay. I added it to my haphazard collection of multiple flavours of Neo Citran and Nyquil, not coherent enough to wryly notice that everything in my basket began with the letter N, and proceeded to the checkout.

I decided to wait for the fever to break before sticking anything up my nose, so it wasn’t until the next week before I opened the package. I added 1 cup of lukewarm, previously boiled water from the kettle to the blue plastic pot, poured in a packet of solution, tipped my head forward and slightly to one side over the sink, stuck the pot up my nose, breathed through my mouth, and waited for the miracle to happen.

All in all, it wasn’t too terrible an experience. Weird, yes—terrible, not so much.

What I can’t stress enough, however, is that if you aren’t used to consciously breathing through your mouth for long periods of time without feeling the need to swallow, practice first. I didn’t, and some of the solution went in my throat—which had the subsequent effect of my being convinced, after blowing my nose, that everything smelled like salt for the rest of the night. But that, at least, meant that I could smell—in my case, well into the next day!

So I can’t exactly say that I liked it. I can only attest to the fact that it worked; to be perfectly honest, I haven’t felt the need to use it since. That’s not to say that it’s that magical—I just don’t have chronic sinus issues like some do, and I was likely at the tail end of the congestion phase of my cold.

For those of you who are interested in giving it a try, Neilmeds’s site is offering $3 coupons for both Canadian and US customers right now and, in the box I bought, there was a fax-in coupon for a free sinus rinse bottle.

For those of you who aren’t, well… have fun watching this video that illustrates why putting anything but saline solution up your nose is not a good idea…

Update: I have the flu again and tried the neti pot again yesterday. Do not, I repeat, do not double the amount of solution (to create a hypertonic effect). I haven’t had a nosebleed for twelve years until yesterday—and today. I was able to breathe and produced a lot of drainage (yum), but it wasn’t worth the scariness of blood pouring out of my nose intermittently. I’ll put it off until tomorrow, but I’ll stick to the one packet from now on.

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After moving from the Annex a few years ago, I was dismayed to find so few brunch offerings in the Bloorcourt area, but I was determined to sample each and every one. I take my brunch seriously, kids. I want it fast, good, and without attitude. And if you aren’t willing to provide me with coffee on a more than regular basis, you can take your stupid carafe and go home.

The Black Horse is some kind of crazy mix between lovely pub and greasy spoon. They have beautiful stained glass in the windows and cute little photos of the neighborhood (circa 1920 or so) on the walls, but their kitchen is at the front of the restaurant for all to see—they even have a surly cook in a white t-shirt! However, this means little to me—you could sit me on a toilet with the seat down in front of a TV table so long as you meet my high expectations for Sunday afternoon sustenance.

Let’s get down to brass tacks: they offer a veggie omelette for under $10 that isn’t so much omelette as it is a folded frittata but, if you like lots of fresh veg, this what you want. It is what I have always ordered, and it has never disappointed; the only drawback is that the bread choice does not include rye (hint, hint…). The waitress is lovely, friendly, and quick on her toes with the coffee pot when you catch her eye. And I’ve heard a mix of Neil Diamond and swing hits on the sound system on more than one occasion. This pleases me.

The only reason why we haven’t been more often is that my husband prefers variety and, unfortunately, said variety is lacking on the menu as far as vegetarian options go. But if a certain waitress is working at Hurricanes on a given Sunday, it’s my first choice for a lazy ten-minute walk down to Bloor for a bite and a bulk shop.

Come summer, we’ll be back more often—there’s a table on the back patio that’s canopied by a gorgeous, droopy tree. Don’t be getting any ideas, mind you—I call dibs every Sunday.

The Black Horse
403 Roncesvalles Avenue
Toronto, ON M6R 2N1
(416) 588-2930

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I love whipping up this vegetarian chili whenever I’m feeling lazy, but I want to make people think I put  lot of effort into a meal. Not only can I get creative with the ingredients (including the kind of TVP I use), but I usually also end up with enough to spread over multiple meals. I can add rice to the leftovers, put them in a wrap, stick them in a bun and call them sloppy joes… the world is my oyster. And I’d like to share this metaphorical oyster with you.

Because this is kind of a freestyle recipe, you can put your own spin on it and take full credit for its success…

Vegan Warning: None. Unless you use non-vegan ingredients. I use Worcestershire sauce for flavour and colour—but that’s just me. Don’t be like me. Explore your own chili path.

Freestyle Chili Base
2 cups TVP (granulated for old-school chili, chunky if you’re funky)
1 796 mL can tomatoes (I prefer diced, but who am I to tell you what to do)
1 540 mL can beans, drained and rinsed (kidney if you’re a purist, but use your imagination)
Optional Ingredients
Olive oil (if you’re sautéing stuff first)
Onions, celery, peppers, carrots—whatever veg you want (or none at all—it’s up to you!)
Spices/condiments
Tomato juice or V8 (if you like wet chili)
Sauté onions/garlic first (if you want) in a big old pot. Add tomatoes and bring to a boil. Add TVP and stir until liquid is absorbed. If you want it drier, add more TVP; if you like it wetter, add tomato juice. Add vegetables and spices/condiments. Reduce heat and simmer until vegetables are cooked to your liking. Add beans and cook until heated through.

Personally, I sauté a red onion, yellow onion, and some garlic in a bit of olive oil in the pot before I add a can of herbed, diced tomatoes. I use Worcestershire and chipotle sauce for colour and spice, and I add some chopped celery when I add a can of bean medley near the end so neither get too soft. If I’m feeling particularly colourful, I’ll chuck in some yellow and orange pepper or some chopped spinach. Honestly, though, you shouldn’t listen to me—this is a guideline, not a recipe.

Now, go forth on your own chili-making journey, returning only to share your own tales of victory. If you can fool a carnivore, all the better!

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I’ve had many good experiences at Hurricane’s. The karaoke is fun, and I have been (up until recently) a fan of their brunches.

Since Disgraceland opened next door, Hurricanes has been trying to revamp their menu to appeal to the ironic hipster set without raising their prices to match—a valiant (albeit quaint) effort. I went there at least two Sundays per month until a very unsettling and negative customer service experience caused me to avoid the place like the plague for a month or two.

Basically, I didn’t get toast with my breakfast; this would not have been a problem if I was told that they did not have bread. I don’t eat eggs without toast, so I would have ordered something else. Simple, right? Apparently not.

We were told that the boss was out getting bread. Half an hour later, someone whom I’m assuming was the boss came back and took her sweet time chatting her way through the restaurant. By then, my breakfast was cold. I was then served a soggy, half-toasted hamburger bun. The look on my face prompted the waitress to say, “Oh – you don’t want it now?”

Being a wuss, I paid the bill. I was just too hungry to complain, and I was too shocked at not being provided with any apology to have found the words to do so.

I’ve been back once since then. If I see the waitress in question working (which, unfortunately, is most Sundays), I walk back out. However, the price is great and coffee is included—and everyone else who works there is pretty cool and laid back. I don’t fault the place for having one employee who’s lacking in customer service skills. Just be forewarned: your experience may vary. Oh, and if you order something, make sure that they have what you’re ordering because, apparently, you DO have to ask.

Hurricane’s Roadhouse Restaurant
963 Bloor Street W
Toronto, ON M6H 1L7
(416) 531-7818

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After trying this recipe for vegetarian meatloaf and ending up with a solid block of tomato-flavoured stuffing (my husband didn’t think it was all that bad but I, who had stopped eating meat recently enough to remember the taste, wasn’t fooled), I figured that, with a little finagling, I could do better. Fewer steps, fewer ingredients, and less than half the suggested amount of breadcrumbs later, I think I’ve done it…

Vegan Warning: Eggs. And no, you can’t use mashed banana as a substitute–that’s just nasty. but if you find that lecithin granules work, knock yourself out. Oh, and the Worcestershire sauce in the Ground Belief has fish in it (click on the recipe for other options).

Deceit Loaf
1 batch Ground Belief (TVP, water, and Worcestershire sauce—click here for the recipe)
1 onion, chopped
1 can mushroom gravy (or 1 packet, prepared)
2 eggs
1 cup bread crumbs (if you like dry loaf, throw in another 1/2 cup)
Cooking spray
Optional:
Chopped chives or mushrooms
Olive oil (adds fat, but I like to add a couple of splashes to moisten my loaf [that sounds so wrong])
Spices to taste (I use 1 Tablespoon of Italian seasoning and 1 teaspoon of cayenne powder)
Heat oven to 350°F. Spray a loaf pan with cooking spray. Combine all ingredients and press into pan. Cover pan with foil, bake for 30-40 minutes, remove foil, and bake for an additional 10-20 minutes until cooked through. Cooking times may vary, depending on whether you’re using an oven (shorter) or a toaster oven (longer).

As you can see from the picture, it’s not terribly brown. That’s because I was running low on Worcestershire sauce when I made the Ground Belief (alternately, you could use browning sauce, which is vegetarian—though not as tasty). But it tasted fine—not as tomato-laden as some recipes tend to be (I guess you could substitute the can of gravy with a cup of ketchup… hmmm… I’ll have to try that), but pretty meaty nonetheless. However, if you really want to fool a carnivore, make it browner—and I found that after refrigerating and reheating the leftovers the next day, the texture was even meatloaf-like. Bung some ketchup on the top, and I’d be hard-pressed to find a more passable alternative to the original.

Let me know how yours turns out. Did you do anything to make it more authentic?

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I went here with a group after seeing a Swedish vampire movie at the Revue last Friday (yes, I know). I tried to go to their website and gave up after it went through page after ambiguous page of one-line arty nonsense and I had to hold-click on the word “eat” to look at their menu, which annoyed me. Prepare for fail, thought I…

I was pleasantly surprised at the low level of annoyance I felt as we entered the place. After being seated and told that there was no Guinness, I was offered a sample of the stout that they did have, which I appreciated. I also appreciated the fact that nobody there seemed to take offense that we were a bunch of nerds in an arty-looking jazz bar.

They were playing live music with a female singer, which I usually don’t like, but it was neither too loud nor too pretentious. The best thing, though, was the guy at the end of the bar. He was wearing a flowy trench coat and had flowy hair and a flowy beard/moustache combo… like Silent Bob, only flowy. He kept stroking his moustache in a knowing way all through the set, and it completely MADE MY NIGHT. I would suggest that you go to this place if only for the chance of experiencing the moustache man.

I don’t really remember much else about the experience, but let’s review:
Website: annoying.
Place: not annoying.
Service: pleasant.
Music: not too pretentious.
Moustache man: FANTASTIC.

Gate 403 Bar & Grill
403 Roncesvalles Avenue
Toronto, ON M6R 2N1
(416) 588-2930

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As an aspect of my foray into trying new things, I’ve decided to take a closer look at what I eat.  I’ve recently given up red meat and chicken, and I’ve vowed to complement my sedentary lifestyle with regular activity (virtual though it may be).  It helps to have a vegetarian husband with the same goals; he’s been pushing me towards a regular excercise routine (bless his valiant efforts), and I’ve been pretending I can cook in my newly increased spare time. 

As a neo-quasi-lacto-ovo-pesce-vegetarian who doesn’t drink milk, I’m learning how important it is to supplement my diet with calcium, protein and, yes, fibre (or fiber to my American readers).  So when inulin (not insulin) powder found its way onto my kitchen shelf though the generosity of my in-laws, my interest was piqued.

The most immediately quantifiable claim about inulin is that you can add it to food and beverages without affecting its taste, colour, or texture.  It apparently aids in the absorption of calcium and iron — which is a plus for me.  It can even improve the texture of low-fat ice cream.

So I tried it and discovered a few things.  First, it needs to be added to liquid — not the other way around, unless you’re looking for clumps of inappropriate-looking white stuff in your food and beverages.  If you’re baking or cooking with it, add it to any liquids before you mix it into dry ingredients (like biscuits or soup).  And it doesn’t really completely dissolve in cold water, as shown in the pictures; hot liquid works best (like tea).  I suppose that makes sense; after all, if I’m emptying a vial of it into your drink at a bar, you’d like to see what’s going on in your glass, wouldn’t you?  (By the way, I’m not going to do that.)

Unfortunately, I drank the liquids pictured in these and other unused photos and got really farty.  Of course, I haven’t been using it for long enough to have developed a tolerance for it, and it’s recommended that you work gradually from 1-3 teaspoons (up to 15 grams) per day.  When I say it’s recommended, I mean DO IT.  Don’t be like me.  Farty, I mean.  The funny thing is that, because it’s tasteless and odorless, so is the end result.  I’m going to stop this paragraph right here before we have any more regrets.

So what’s my verdict?  It hasn’t killed me yet.  Of course, I don’t think I’ve been doing it on a regular enough basis to have had any effect.  I mean, people don’t die from eating too many sunchokes, do they?  However, it hasn’t done anything magical yet.  Oh, well; it really isn’t that expensive – I think it’s about 12 bucks for 105 servings or something like that, which calculates into about 11 cents per serving, which works for me right now.  Just stay away from me for a few days.

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I have poor impulse control when it comes to… well, everything.  When i’m working at home, I can’t just make half a pot of coffee.  What if my husband bogarts it?  What if I’m not angry and paranoid enough after I drink it all myself?  At the same time, I can’t just give up caffeine.  That would be silly.

My brother-in-law gave up coffee for some reason a few years ago and switched to green tea.  You sneaky bastard, I thought at the time; you can get your fix whilst hiding behind the pretense of reaping the myriad benefits of all that green tea has to offer.  On the other hand, everyone was doing it.  I didn’t want to jump on the whole green tea bandwagon only because the other kids were doing it.  It just wasn’t pretentious enough…

I saw white tea on a shelf at Dominion a while ago and knew I had to try it.  I, who grew up in Oshawa, the target-audience poster-town for Van Halen (spokesmetalband of the “Crystal Pepsi” generation), wanted to get me some invisible-tea action.  The clearer the product, the better the quality, right?  I mean, look at Evian Mist.

So for the past few years, between regret-soaked lost weekends of coffee-infused iniquity, I’ve been drinking white tea.  I couldn’t get the Touch tea from Dominion after a while, so I halfheartedly flirted with other  brands off and on until I rediscovered the glory that is the 100-count tea cube at my local Shoppers Drug Mart.  When it comes to other brands, I can’t stress this enough: don’t buy Lipton white tea.  Unless you’re interested in buying white tea and ending up with a big old pot of apricot-flavoured crap.  And if you do, I won’t judge you — just don’t try to foist it off on me when I come to visit.

According to white tea enthusiasts, you’re supposed to steep white tea for 30-40 seconds in fresh, hot (not boiling) water.  As you’re likely to have deduced from the photos, I am not so meticulous.  I just bung a bag in my Totoro mug and chuck some old, boiled kettle water in there before I wander off and forget it for a quarter of an hour.  If I’m especially observant, I’ll find it in a state of delicate golden splendour, with a soft and refreshing taste; usually, however, it ends up looking like weak orange pekoe, and its lukewarm refreshment is not so life-altering. 

I don’t care — it has more polyphenols than green tea, the caffeine high is subtler and less jarring than with coffee, and the feeling of smug self-satisfaction that comes from knowing I paid less than six bucks for 100 bags of organic tea whilst my arty-farty neighbors sniff enviously in my direction more than makes up for my lack of mad brewing skills.  And in the immortal words of Sammy Hagar:

It’s what’s happening
Right here and now
Right now, it’s right now
Oh!
Tell me, what are ya waitin’ for?

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I bought a root veg.  I don’t know what it is.  I saw it at the corner store one day and thought, why not?  I figured, at best, it was a yam; at worst, a radish.  Not that I don’t like radishes — it’s just that you can’t really do the same things with them as you could yams, and I had plans for my mystery tuber.

Okay, I actually didn’t have plans… but I did have the Internet and, after my recent success with fat-free biscuits, I thought I could find a recipe that would reveal its true potential.  And I felt like soup.

I decided to jury-rig a Julia Child vichyssoise recipe I found online – the  difference is that I didn’t have the right ingredients (in that I had this unknown root and various veg instead of, well, anything in the recipe).  Did that stop me?  Apparently not.  Prepare for fail, said I…

Vegan Warning: None! Don’t say I never did nothin’ for you guys. And if you’re worried about sodium, don’t use salt.

Mystery Tuber Soup (made from 100% root veg!)
2 cups thinly sliced carrots
2 cups mixture of 1 medium thinly sliced cooking onion, 1 bunch thinly sliced green onions (only the white bottoms), and 3 cloves thinly sliced garlic
4 cups thinly sliced mystery tuber (potatoes, yams, sweet potatoes… whatever)
7 cups cold water
2 teaspoons salt
Put the water in a big pot and add the veg to it as you go (slice the yam or potato or whatever first so it doesn’t brown). Add salt and bring to a boil, cover partially, and simmer for half an hour. Puree in small batches once cool enough to not melt your blender. Serve warm or cold.

Have you ever been to fressen? You know that swanky $6 soup they have there?  It’s like that. Or if you haven’t been, I’d imagine it’s like those fancy soups in a carton for which you pay through the nose at the supermarket. I’m not usually a fan of cooked carrots but, as leeks tend to be relatively mild, I figured that two cups of cooking onions would be a little crazy. You can do whatever the heck you want with this recipe — I did, and it worked!

Of course, I couldn’t leave well enough alone.  I took a cup of the soup, added a crapload of curry powder and capsaicin, and kept it in a separate container to drizzle on the top when I served it.  Don’t do that.  Just don’t.  And if you do, get ready to throw out a cup’s worth of soup.

Stupid drizzly flourishes aside, my husband (a big fan of fressen’s soups but not of fressen’s prices) was extremely happy with the soup and impressed with me as a result.  It was super cheap and easy to make — and if there are two words with which I’m often described, it’s cheap and easy.  No, wait…

… I think it was a red yam.

Update: After making this soup numerous times, I’ve created a simple formula:

Rooty Bulbous Soup
4 cups sliced roots (potatoes, yams, parsnips, carrots, etc.)
4 cups sliced bulbs (leeks, onions, garlic, scallions, etc)
7 cups cold water
2 teaspoons salt
Add veg to cold water. Bring to boil, then simmer for 30 minutes. Puree. Tada.
]]> http://trythisthing.wordpress.com/2009/01/14/underground-soup/feed/ 0 Lori img_0533 Yes Yes img_0490 img_0494 img_0495 img_0497 http://trythisthing.wordpress.com/2009/01/07/fat-free-biscuit-mix/ http://trythisthing.wordpress.com/2009/01/07/fat-free-biscuit-mix/#comments Wed, 07 Jan 2009 07:50:52 +0000 Lori Dance http://trythisthing.wordpress.com/?p=3 ]]> Tried it?      

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I’m off this week and, therefore, in charge of taking care of the household; this includes cooking, much to my husband’s chagrin.  So I decided to look online for some recipes to try.  Oddly enough, lots of quickie biscuit recipes involve Bisquick, which is something I don’t have.  However, I’ve discovered that I do have ingredients for fat-free biscuit mix, which apparently works just as well…

Though it can be found all over the Internet, the earliest mention of this recipe that I could find is from Diane Morrissey (if I’m wrong, please correct me).  Of course, I can’t leave well enough alone and had to put my own spin on it.  So here’s my version—I even made up my own clever name for it because I’m just that clever…

Vegan Warning: Milk. I have no idea how it would turn out without it and, despite being slightly lactose intolerant, it doesn’t bother my stomach. As for gluten, well… duh.

Bistrick
3 1/4 cups unsifted all-purpose flour
1 cup instant skim milk powder
1/2 cup cornstarch
1 Tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
Combine all ingredients. Store in a 1.5L sealed container. Shake container before using.

I added 2/3 cup of water to 2 cups of mix (the rule for the biscuits is 3 parts mix to 1 part water), threw in a bunch of thinly sliced chives, and mixed it all up; I then dropped gooey balls of batter into my trusty-rusty silicone 6-cup muffin pan and bunged it into my toaster oven at 450◦F for 10 minutes.

The biscuits far surpassed my expectations.  In fact, I halved the recipe and made six mini biscuits with clam chowder for our lunch today, and I can’t wait to find more ways to use this mix (like Red Lobster Cheddar Bay Biscuits… mmm).  I sense a faux-Bisquick intervention in my near future.