Edible Tulip

C is for Carrots

Carrots brighten up the produce area of any small green grocer. You've got your dull, leathery beets beside the matte skin of baskets of green beans; you have your various shades of green in a spread of broccoli, endive, frisee, kale, bok choy, leaf lettuces, fresh herbs, brussel sprouts, cabbage, artichokes and green onions and then you see a splash of colour, not just any colour, but ORANGE, and boy does the carrot wear it proudly (not many people can, you see).

The carrot is a colourful, fleshy, undivided taproot full of Vitamins A and C with a blend of sugar and carbohydrates balanced enough to make it one of the most widely cultivated root crops on earth. My family has always had vegetable gardens but I can't remember a time when we had a good crop of carrots. They are a favourite of rabbits and deer and they never seem to grow into full maturation making the ones I inevitably pull small and round. They are also plentiful and fairly cheap in supermarkets so I stick to the bulk baskets with the fresh, oddly shaped carrots that are intensely sweet and hearty compared to the baby carrots that are too young to hold enough flavour and often more watery than dense. Carrots are generally local (i.e. from Ontario farmers and producers) when bought from our supermarkets and farmer's markets.

Carrots belie any attachment to a particular ethnic style of cooking; they are instead a universal vegetable having originated in Turkey and Afghanistan, cultivated in Russia in order to feed the Revolution, and, currently, one of China's main crops. It also happens to be a year round vegetable adding a sense of seasonal touch to dishes from Indian Dahls and Vietnamese spring rolls to summer salads like coleslaw. One of my (and numerous others that I cook for!) favourite salad is made with carrots and cabbage enhanced by mint and cilantro and seasoned with lemon and tamari with both fresh garlic and fresh ginger.

4 cups shredded carrots
4 cups shredded cabbage
handful of mint leaves and cilantro leaves chopped or torn into small pieces
2 Tbsp minced peeled fresh gingerroot
3 garlic cloves, peeled and minced
1/4 cup rice vinegar
2 Tbsp tamari
juice of 2 lemons
2 Tbsp sesame oil
1/2 cup canola/olive oil
coarse salt
cracked pepper to taste

Combine the middle 7 ingredients in a blender and pour over the slaw. Toss with sesame seeds and the salt and pepper. Add the fresh herbs and combine just before serving.

B is for Black Horse Pub

For those of us who consider ourselves 'country folk' i.e. we prefer the quiet of the natural world, we are borderline neurotic with our attachment to shrubs/trees/bees/birds/insects/swamp-life and the disenfranchisement we feel in living in an urban environment we try to make up for by scouting out random spots that a monarch butterfly might find hospitable enough to drop by for a suck of nectar.

I live in the Bloor and Ossington neighbourhood. I love my moments at Dufferin Grove Park but spring and summer are overrun with dogs and children. I love both. But I don't have either so the cacophany and insanity and clubiness of that exclusive milieu saddens me and so I avoid it altogether. I don't have an outdoor area larger than a grate big enough to host two rather small folding patio chairs and the view ain't nothing to write home about. The Serbians expanded the neighbourhood church from a small provincial gathering of occasional celebration to an enormous stone castle of ongoing pleasure. For some, that is.

So now I go out when I want a cocktail and some company on a sweet summer's eve. When I'm ready for adventure on the town, and out-of-town, well, that's another story, but when I want to stay local, and wear my flipflops down a block or so, I hit up the Black Horse Tavern. The building, you can't miss it with it's two horse heads on the front facade, is historically dated back to 1891. The interior is a simple combination of square tables and chairs adorned with miniature lanterns. The bar is set to the rear of the room (smoking would suit this place) and the kitchen is out in front with an open counter and grill. If you venture way back you'll come across what feels like entering into a friend's grandmother's living room - mismatched lamps and couches and odd art in front of a gas fireplace. It's perfect for playing cribbage in front of in February. But the back patio is what I keep coming back for, that and their excellent dill/yogurt halibut dish served with fresh vegetables and basmati rice. The patio is quiet and verdant. Everything a patio should be when dining a deux.

Food, you ask? Good hamburgers and fries. Good fish and chips. Fine quesadillas. Excellent halibut special. If you're a brunch person you'll enjoy their steak and eggs, their western omelettes, etc. I hate brunch so I can't comment.

A is for Alchemy (the Baking Company)

I started this alphabet posting a few weeks ago with A is for Avocado where I ranted about this guy in my life but then changed my mind or at least my heart about it and took it off luckily for me because said guy read my website recently. I really need to start journaling again to vent those toxic momentary shifts in feelings about my life. The avocado was acting as a mentor in that post giving me advice and steering me in directions that only a succulent fruit such as she with the skin of a crocodile truly could. For now that avocado is where my last therapist ended up: Calgary.

My letter B post was supposed to be about my birthday bash at Bairrada Restaurant here in Toronto. It's a lively Portuguese barbecue spot with an enormous back patio - a fountain, no less than 40 picnic tables, all under the shade of large Elms and Maple trees. But alas I forgot my camera or at least forgot to photograph the whole event. Must have been that Vinho Verde.

So now I'm back. I'm back with my lust of letters and a determination to see this alphabetical posting through. A, my friends, is for Alchemy Baking Company, a small independent bake shop based in Kensington Market, Toronto. Alchemy (as defined in the OED): the medieval forerunner of chemistry, esp. seeking to turn base metals into gold or silver; a miraculous transformation or the means of achieving this. Breaking bread is one of the most powerful shared experiences between people. It's part of the Communion of life. I've always believed in that thought and I have attempted to provide nourishment and care to others through the offering of food throughout my life.

Alchemy is run by Brian Kirk. I happened across the product when my mother and I were walking furiously through Kensington Market gathering goodies to take north for the w/end and trying to find somewhere to eat that was uncomplicated and brought to the table to soothe our grouchy shopping spirits. I have no idea if the place we ate at IS actually alchemy baking; their website suggests they are up in the west Annex but I do know we had the baker and his baked goods where we ate at 287 Augusta Avenue. The bread looked divine. Especially the purple bread that like that Mystery Butter (made with all the refuse cashew/almond/peanut dregs) that is so good. I want to say the influence is beet juice or red wine or a balsamic compote but I think I'm wrong on all accounts. His bread is artisinal (hand crafted and formed) and made from the best local ingredients one could forage. He makes organic breads but his non-organics are more interesting in taste and variety: Apple Walnut
Spicy Tomato with Black Sesame
Fresh Dill and Onion
Semolina with Anise
Durham Bread
Egg Bread with fresh eggs & Saffron
Afghani with Nigella
Dark Rye with Caraway
Basic White
Muesli Bread
Sweet Persian with Mahleb
Onion Poppy Rye
Blue Corn with Jalapeno
Potato and Herb Focaccia
Cranberry and Raisin Focaccia
Blueberry and Raisin Focaccia
Kalamata Olive Focaccia
Sundried Tomamto Focaccia
Sesame Barley

We ate squash soup (which I have to admit, 6 months later walking by after visiting my dentist whose office is on Augusta, they were STILL serving squash soup as their soup of the day. I gather it's a cheap vegetable, easy to make tasty, cube it, saute it, add onion, salt and broth and top with a chopped herbaceous green) and split his excellent mini pizzas (served cold unfortunately). I chalk up the lack of service to the gum-smacking dyed-blonde woman behind the counter who drummed her nails along the tabletop as though she was just simply bored, bored, bored.

But really what struck both me and my mother about this bakery and what we had to fill bags and bags worth of was his SHORTBREAD. They are individually stacked high and luminously so in glass jars. We walked the walk of shortbread row and lifted each lid in order to take in aromas like cardamom and cracked pepper, lemon and rosemary, lavender and crushed cinnamon. His shortbreads are delicious and addictive!