Broccoli

Broccoli is often the quintessential food that picky children hate to the point of becoming a cliché. So maybe it’s a bit weird or unexpected that I like broccoli, but I really do, and I can’t recall ever having a problem with it.

Just picked up these crowns today at Sobey's.  Lately I've had really terrible luck with broccoli in Toronto and I have
been forced to throw a lot of it out.  I have really high hopes for these ones, though.  They look absolutely perfect,
and I love when grocery stores sell them without too much stem.

 But not all broccoli is created equally.  In order to be worth eating, broccoli should be prepared in a specific manner.  Ideally it should be steamed, but it should always be undercooked—there are few things in this world worse than mushy broccoli.  Although perfectly acceptable plain, it’s value is really augmented by the addition of either butter, or better yet, grated cheddar cheese or cheese sauce.  It also pairs well with cauliflower and carrots, as shown below:

Broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots: cooked to perfection and ready for consumption.

You can notice in the above photos that I am always careful to ensure that each piece of broccoli that I cut up is a tree unto itself.  Sometimes you have to sacrifice the integrity of a tree if it is simply too large, but as a general rule I like to maintain this structure.  In fact, I cannot abide halved trees or a crown that has been recklessly cut up.

It is also worth mentioning at this point in time that broccoli can also be consumed raw, and that is perfectly fine, although rarely preferable.  Raw broccoli almost stings your mouth, so it's always recommended to cook broccoli if possible.  Of course, some events lend themselves better to raw broccoli, such as casual get-togethers in which people nibble rather than feast.  Although, it is generally ill-advised to cook broccoli for a dinner anyway because it's difficult to gauge how another person likes their broccoli cooked.

There are, however, two major concerns that must be voiced in any broccoli review.  The first is that cooking broccoli produces a horrific odor, and if you live with another person, you should be careful to cook your broccoli only when that person is already at home, or when you can be absolutely certain that they will not be returning for quite some time.  Few things in this world are more cruel than having someone come home to a house that reeks of recently-cooked broccoli.  The second concern is that selecting a perfect crown of broccoli is no easy task.  Often grocery stores are left with an abysmal selection of broccoli.  Either the flowers have started to yellow (or worse yet, brown), or the stems have turned rubbery or have gone white and hard inside.  In recent months I have become increasingly vigilant about the quality of broccoli I buy because I am convinced that last winter I ate some broccoli that had gone bad and suffered mild food poisoning as a result.  The best broccoli will have a mix of rich, forest green colouring and a more vibrant bright green.  The flowers will also be tightly packed and probably quite small.  You should be wary of a crown if the flowers are starting to pull apart, and avoid it at all costs if there is any sign of yellowing/browning.

This picture perhaps better captures how I insist that my broccoli be prepared for cooking.  Although it looks like
there is some yellowing on the flowers, I can assure you that is due only to the poor quality of my phone.

Despite some dangerous pitfalls, broccoli remains one of my favourite all-season vegetables.  Unlike peas and green beans—which are my favourites—it is usually possible to get high-quality broccoli at any time of the year, making it one of the most versatile vegetables.  It is our extreme good fortune that quality carrots and cauliflower are two other vegetables that can often be purchased during any season.

Did you know that broccoli is cousin to the cabbage?


For me, such knowledge should cause long-lasting diet-restricting damage.
And yet, I continue to eat this little cabbage-tree—
Less out of necessity and more just for glee.
You don’t always have to love the family you wed into:
Ignore the blood line and slice that broccoli head in two,
Slather it with butter or grated cheddar cheese,
Because sometimes it is better to not see the forest for the broccoli-trees.

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@foodthoughtz You'll have to see an agent in the airport for this. Love you too! /dp
— Air Canada (@AirCanada) January 8, 2014

New Year, New Me: This Green Vegetable Smoothie

Continuing the inadvertent 2014 trend of trying new things that began with a walnut, over the holidays I tried a sip of a smoothie at the Wooden Spoon Bistro.  No big deal, right?  Wrong.  This smoothie had kale and avocado in it and I even knew about the kale before I tried it.  (The taste, in case anyone was wondering, was neutralized by agave nectar).  To be fair, had I known there was also avocado in it, there's no way I would have tried it.  But things get stranger: I actually really enjoyed it.  I'm not sure if I would have wanted the entire smoothie for myself, but luckily my three year-old niece guzzled the whole thing down before anyone else had a chance.

Since trying this smoothie, my what had hitherto been an unquenchable thirst for trying new foods has kind of petered out.  But still, even if that's it for me in 2014, I've had a pretty good run.

Burger Round-Up

I am currently on hour 55 of my 64+ hour trip home.  So far I have consumed 3 airport burgers, and one Kelowna burger at The Keg before taking the Greyhound to Vancouver.  Here is a brief overview of those burgers:

1. The Keg:

No photos exist of this burger experience, and frankly, if photographs are supposed to serve as memory keepers, I’m glad: eating at The Keg isn’t really an experience I am eager to remember.  The burger tasted a bit strange, possibly because I believe it was prime rib burger (I have no idea what that might mean) or possibly because there might have been BBQ sauce on it.  The fries were truly terrible, which was surprising because I expected The Keg to, first of all, have steak fries, and second of all, have good fries.  Adding to this already disappointing dining debacle, the waitress was truly abysmal, and at one point referred to my empty plate as “that little guy,” as in, “Let me get that little guy out of the way for ya!”


2. Vera’s Burgers:

Vera’s Burgers are all over Vancouver and are always being touted as “Vancouver’s Best Burger.” You’d think that with all that bragging, they might actually be able to produce a decent burger, but you would be wrong.  After The Keg, this was the second worst burger on the trip.  Everything about it was terrible: the bun, the meat, the cheese, the packaging… It was really disappointing.  I think my burger might have been composed entirely of chunks of ground beef that broke off from previous patties.  I have eaten at Vera’s once before, and I remember thinking that it was okay, but not amazing.  
This burger didn't even register as okay.

I friggin' hate it when buns have a hard shell.  So many unnecessary crumbs,
and it really takes away from the overall experience.

 3. Moxie’s Burger:

You guys.  You guys.  Air Canada put me up in the Sandman City Centre in Calgary after my connecting flight to Toronto had been cancelled and I couldn’t be rebooked until 5pm the following day.  In addition, they gave me a dinner voucher and breakfast voucher to use at the in-hotel Moxie’s restaurant, and another $10 to spend on lunch at the airport.  The Moxie burger was pretty good, and while I couldn’t put it in my Top 10 Burgers, it did taste better because it was free.  I had fries on the side and the waiter didn’t know what malt vinegar was and claimed that they “didn’t have any,” which I find really hard to believe. 


I have no idea if that pickle that was skewered atop my burger was edible or plastic, but I didn't appreciate the gesture.

 4. Montana’s Cookhouse Saloon Burger: 

Okay, despite a few drawbacks, this burger was by far the best of the four and in general is just a really solid burger.  At first I was a bit put off by the high prices because my $10 voucher wouldn’t cover the $15 burger, but then I noticed that they had an “unloaded” option for $11, and I went for it.  And let me just say thank you, Montana’s Cookhouse Saloon, because I have been waiting for an “unloaded” option at a cheaper price for my entire life.  But let me also add, why doesn’t anyone who works at your restaurant know what “unloaded” means?  When my burger arrived, it was topped with lettuce and tomato, and with a larger pickle-quarter on the side.  I promptly put it on a napkin so the waitress could see how she had failed me.  (I didn’t get a refund though.  Montana’s Cookhouse Saloon, if you’re reading this, please give me a free unloaded burger).  Once again, the waitress had never heard of malt vinegar, but she was decent enough to inquire about it for me, and obviously they had some because obviously.  Take note, Moxie’s.  Once again, the fries left something to be desired, but were undoubtedly improved by the malt vinegar.


Hungarian Cold Fruit Soup

Wow.  I don’t even know how to start this post because I still can’t get my head around this.  Cold fruit soup?  At first I thought that perhaps the name didn’t translate very well from Hungarian.  But it does.  “Leves” means soup.  And then I thought, well, okay, this is just an unfortunate instance of poor naming that doesn’t really capture the essence of the food itself.  But it kind of does.  It actually is just cold fruit soup.  My relationship with this soup has run the gamut of emotions, from total revulsion to piqued interest to disappointment, and finally to indifference.

 Although I had all the opportunities in the world to try this soup during my many sojourns in Budapest, I never did.  The reason should be fairly self-evident (it's marketed as cold fruit soup), and I long considered it amongst the most depraved of all Hungarian inventions--of which there are many, and if you ever have the pleasure of meeting a real-life Hungarian, they will undoubtedly list them all for you.  I have never considered food to be a meaningful way by which to engage with a culture, but every time I was reminded of the existence of cold fruit soup, I had to stop and wonder what kind of miseries a people must endure to bring them to this dish.  I imagined a starving family, huddled together over a small fire in the midst of a harsh winter, with nothing to eat but some left-over fruit preserves from the fall and doing what they had to to survive.  The image did not appeal to me.

Okay, well, here it is.  The blobs are chunks of cherry.  At first I was pretty excited because I thought it would be like
the chunks of cherry in Activia yogurt (JLC: if you're reading this, hi!!), but it was not like that at all.

I also could never quite understand when one is expected to eat this soup.  I get the impression that it is often served as a main course, but because it's cold and because it's made of soup, it didn't make any sense.  Shouldn't it just be a post-meal dessert or a poor substitute for ice cream?  It really should not be a meal unto itself.  I don't know how many times I will have to say this in this post, but it is quite literally cold fruit soup.

By imagining how it might first have been developed and by trying to figure out when one is supposed to eat it, cold fruit soup slowly wormed its way into my brain, and I became obsessed with trying it for myself.  This was a pretty new phenomenon for me, because even though I am often intrigued by different foods, I almost never want to try them.  I'm not sure what made this instance different.  But I did try it.  I happen to live about two minutes from one of the few remaining Hungarian eateries in town.  I went with a real Hungarian, who described the soup as being "okay."  I was less generous in my evaluation.

Whenever I take a chance on a new food and try it, I always think it warrants a long post about my experiences.  But the bottom line is that this is a cold fruit soup, and it really doesn't warrant any discussion whatsoever.  Actually, I believe it is a disservice to culinary culture to give any more attention to this food than it deserves, which is none.  To quote one of my (few) instagram followers and real-life Hungarian:

There is nothing left to say about a food that is composed of three elements, the most crucial of which being "soup," and as nagymarcipan correctly pointed out, a soup must be hot and it must be savoury.  The Hungarian cold fruit soup is, then, composed of contradictions, and the second two elements--that it is cold and that is made of fruit--seems to negate the possibility that it is even a soup to begin with.  This food might have been more successful with me if it had been marketed as something else, like a compote or a sauce.  I mean, maybe you could drizzle this over some ice cream and it might be okay, but as it stands, this is not a food I will try again.

I'll leave off on one final note.  In John Hawkes' moderate masterpiece Travesty, the narrator claims that "the greater the incongruity, the greater the truth."  Before you get excited by the prospect that Hungarian cuisine can be justified by literature, it bears mentioning that this very same narrator makes this statement while recklessly driving a sports car at top speed through the French Riviera with the end-game of murdering his daughter and his daughter's lover (who also happens to be the narrator's best friend and the narrator's wife's lover) by crashing into a metre-thick cement wall, and is guided by the life-philosophy that willed destruction is the purest form of poetic expression.  So while Hungarian cuisine cannot be justified by this text, it nevertheless is hauntingly analogous to the current state of Hungary.  Sometimes unreliable narrators are the most reliable of all.

When I married a Hungarian I was not told

That one day I would eat a fruit soup served cold.

Had I known about this in advance,

I probably would have called off the entire romance. 

"Dear Food Thoughtz:" Pickle & Pudding Problems; Heartbreak

Welcome to the second installment of Dear Food Thoughtz.  Today's installment tackles a disgusting pickle addiction, my struggles with a steamed Christmas pudding, and eating emotions.  Email questions to: food.thoughtz@gmail.com

Dear Foodthoughtz!

I am writing you because I am in a terrible pickle. Although, not really. By which I mean that actually I am not in a pickle or in pickle juice—and this is part of the problem.

All my life I have had a burning passion for sour and savoury things, disjunctively and conjunctively. I love chips, cheese, yogurt with salt in it, pickles, pickle flavoured chips, mustard, nuts... you name it. As a teenager I survived for years on sauerkraut, apple and pickled peppers. However, in the recent past, I got married to a person who is averse to all things pickly (although she is acceptant of some savoury things, and vinegar on its own, or as a chip-flavouring). To be honest, at first I have tried to conceal my desires. I have abstained from pickles, or consumed them away from home. I have been pickle-free for 6 months, except for the occasional slice of pickled cucumber on my burger.

As you can imagine, these unhealthy, restrictive behaviours soon took a toll on my health. I began craving pickles. And by craving, I mean CRAYving. I wanted to be showered with sauerkraut and bathed in picklejuice. It did not take long to give in to my secret desires. I became a secretive picklemuncher, snacking on stashes of sauerkraut under my bed and picklejars hidden in the toilet-tank. At this point I fear that the smell might betray me and that my secret will be discovered.

I don't know what to do. Should I reveal my secret and face my wife's contempt and disgust or should I try to suppress my burning desires for acids?!

Help me! Please!

Sincerely,

A sourpuss

Dear Sourpuss,

This is a tough one to answer.  Of course you should by now be well aware of my thoughtz on pickles.  You are a depraved individual for whom very little can be done.  It seems as though your addiction is one that is ruling your life and could potentially ruin your marriage.  In general, I would rarely recommend attempting to overcome any kind of addiction because it will probably lead to a life devoid of meaning, but because the future of your marriage hinges on your ability to exercise restraint and self-discipline when it comes to pickles (and presumably, by extension, all savoury preserves), you are in a very precarious position.  Here is my advice:

Your wife seems like a reasonable and level-headed individual, so perhaps you can strike a deal.  There might be something that she is deeply attached to that you want her to give up, and perhaps you can use this as leverage.  It might even be something as simple as a ratty old t-shirt.

Ultimately, if you can manage to keep your depraved dietary addictions to yourself,  and ensure that pursuing your love of all things pickled does not infringe on your wife's highly-evolved culinary sensibilities, this shouldn't really be much of a problem.  What might be a problem, however, is storing your pickles in the toilet tank.  I would be worried about fecal contamination, the possibility of which is probably increased by such a revolting diet.

Dear Food Thoughtz

Tonight I watched you eat a steamed Christmas pudding that had fruit and carrots in it. I feel confused, like I don't even know you anymore.

Your sister

Dear Concerned Reader,

No one is more confused than I am about that steamed Christmas pudding.  Honestly, when I saw it approach the table afire, I hope that it might entirely be consumed by flame so that I wouldn’t be put in the position of having to eat it.  Unfortunately I was put in that position, and in order to avoid being rude, I forced it down.  Thankfully it was mushy enough that I didn't need to chew before swallowing, so it wasn't as difficult as I initially thought it would be.  It was also served with whipped cream, and I made sure to keep a stash of whipped cream untouched in a corner so I could cleanse my palate afterwards.

Dear Food Thoughtz,

What is the best food for soothing compounded heartbreak? 

Dear Anonymous,

Pizza.  I think pizza is probably the best food for heartbreak of all kinds.  It's also the food I turn to during periods of elation.  Pizza is always the best way to deal with extreme and oscillating emotions.  It is best consumed in bed.  Just bring the whole box in with you and settle down with some TV.  One great thing about having emotions is that they can almost always be eaten.

New Year, New Me: Trying Walnuts

Today is New Years Day.  Today is also the day that I tried a walnut for the first time in my entire life.

I had been pretty dismissive of them in the past, but I must admit, they're not the worst thing I've ever had.

Pictured here is the walnut that I tried in my sister's palm.  Let's hope this launches her long-awaited career as a hand model.