Jamie Drummond on Food and Wine: Episode 9 – Ocean Wise

By Jamie Drummond

These days, with the plethora of information that the eco-conscious diner is continually bombarded with, it can often be most confusing for one to make decisions regarding the ordering of seafood in a restaurant setting. This is where Ocean Wise comes in…

Ocean Wise is an initiative designed by the Vancouver Aquarium with the goal of educating and empowering the consumer when it comes to the many complex issues surrounding sustainable seafood. Through close work with researchers (from both governmental and non-governmental organisations), fishermen, and restaurants

Ocean Wise strives to give the consumer an easy-to-follow labelling that will aid them in making informed choices when it comes to selecting seafood.

Ocean Wise-approved seafood is instantly recognisable on restaurant menus through the use of the symbol on your left, giving the consumer confidence that they are making the best choice to ensure the health of our oceans for generations to come. Celebrating their 5th year in operation, it is clear that many of Canada’s top restaurants have embraced the Ocean Wise program, with over 200 establishments participating in 2010.

In order to gain the Ocean Wise logo a species must:

1) Be abundant and resilient to fishing pressure

2) Be managed as part of a comprehensive plan based upon up-to-the-minute scientific research

3) Be harvested using methods that limit damage to ocean habitats

4) Be harvested in ways that limit bycatch of other, possibly endangered species

Good Food Revolution caught up with some of the Toronto Chefs supporting the Ocean Wise conservation program… albeit it with some really poor lighting:

And if one were to think that by following the mandates of Ocean Wise one would be left eating the most uninteresting of dishes, then have a look at some of the treats served up by some of Toronto’s best Chefs to celebrate Ocean Wise’s 5th year:

Pan Roasted Qualicum Bay Scallop at Scaramouche

With Wild Mushroom and Smoked Bacon Ravioli on Winter Vegetables. Toasted hazelnuts and Breadcrumbs. Veal Jus and Hazelnut Oil.
-Chef Keith Froggett

Alaskan Black Cod at Pangea

With Roasted Winter Root Vegetables, Sauteed Spinach and Black Truffles.
Chef Martin Kouprie

Roasted Ling Cod and Braised Oxtail at The Harbord Room

With With Cous Cous, Crispy Chick Peas, Preserved Lemon and Olives.
Chef Cory Vitiello

A full list of Ocean Wise partners can be found here.

Edinburgh-born/Toronto-based Sommelier, consultant, writer, and educator Jamie Drummond is the Director of Programs/Editor of Good Food Revolution and obvioulsy really needs to get a handle on this video recording/editing stuff.

Jamie Drummond on Food and Wine: Episode 7 – Paul Boehmer

By Jamie Drummond

Toronto Chef Paul Boehmer has been a great friend of mine for many a year, and so when I heard through the grapevine that he was to open his own establishment on the Ossington strip I was absolutely delighted. Having always spoken with Paul about putting together a wine program for him, I was very excited to be invited to see the space back in May of last year, 2009. My immediate reaction upon seeing the ex-auto garage was “Blooming ‘ell… it’s a big space isn’t it Paul?!!!”

If you have a little peek at the picture below you will get some idea of the square footage I am speaking of, not to mention the ceiling height… remember that Boehmer is one unusually tall gentleman…

Stories centred around some of the problems Chef Boehmer has faced as he moved toward his much anticipated restaurant’s opening have been much documented in the Toronto press, and the question on so many folk’s lips was “So when IS Boehmer opening his place?” Well, I am happy to be able to tell you that it is going to be opening very soon indeed…

Around a month ago Chef Boehmer and I sat down in Maria’s Sports Bar in Toronto’s west end to chat about his new venture over what has to be one of the best value lunches in the city… a wonderfully simple Portuguese grilled sea bass with vegetables.

Press play above to listen to the podcast or right-click here to download it.

We also have an exclusive peek at Chef Boehmer’s restaurant interior pre-opening…

Edinburgh-born/Toronto-based Sommelier, consultant, writer, and educator Jamie Drummond is the Director of Programs/Editor of Good Food Revolution.

Jago – I’m Going To Go (Frankie Knuckles Mix)

Massive Attack – Pray for Rain (Tim Goldsworthy Mix)

The lovely Tim Goldsworthy comes up trumps again with this SUPERB remix featuring Tunde Adebimpe from T.V. On The Radio on vocal duties. Bloody good stuff.

The Proof of The Pudding… (The continuation of my foray into the world of making traditional Christmas puddings)

A couple of weeks back I penned a small article/recipe chronicling my rather sorry endeavours, through following a superb recipe by Nigel Slater, to make the best traditional Christmas pudding in the world, ever. Today I put fingers to keyboard and attempt to describe to you how the (dried) fruits of my labours were received, firstly with family on Christmas eve in that snowy outpost of civilisation known as Kapuskasing, northern Ontario, and then with friends at a casual New Year’s Eve dinner party in the west end of Toronto. After the series of misadventures that accompanied the preparation of these two Christmas puddings, it was with a considerable amount of trepidation I presented them to my family and friends.

The ONLY way to travel to northern Ontario.

The train journey from Toronto to Kapuskasing theoretically takes twelve hours. I stress theoretically seeing as last year when we travelled up north to spend the holidays with my girlfriend’s family, there were a series of mitigating circumstances that led to our journey taking closer to seventeen hours. With this in mind I prepared a multi-course picnic to accompany us upon our travels. In a strictly mandated change from the previous year’s on-train picnic of innumerable “barley sandwiches”, I had forgone my usual habit of stuffing 90% of our food space with chilled cans of beer. Upon this occasion I had lovingly prepared some hot, thermos-encased tomato and arugula soup, slices of chilled heritage pork with piccalili, a mixed bean/tuna/red onion salad, some cold barbecue chicken drumsticks, and a substantial selection of artisanal cheeses. Also in the picnic hamper, slotted in beside the Tupperware and (just) two cold cans ofLöwenbräu was one of my babies, the first of my two Christmas puddings, or Figgy, as I had decided to name him. Numerous were the occasions I got up from my seat and peered into the hamper, looking down with love and smiling at my little bundle of raisins, sultanas, brandy and glorious pasture-fed meat fat. I took Figgy in my hands and we looked out of the train window together, taking in the snowswept landscape of frozen muskeg as it whipped by. This was a big adventure for Figgy, the first time he had been parted from his twin sister, Plum, who was sitting alone in the fridge back in Toronto. And it was going to be Figgy’s very first Christmas…

Boiling my pud for the final time.

My girlfriend’s mother’s family hail from an Alsatian-French background, and so holiday celebrations tend to be focused around a traditional réveillon on the night before Christmas itself. One of my girlfriend’s aunts had prepared a magnificent spread for a long table of eighteen persons, a spread that centred around a very special Moose Bourguignon (made from a beast shot by her husband no less!) Aided and abetted by many a bottle of Pepe’s homemade wine, it was a very fine dinner indeed and the perfect way to spend Christmas eve with family. It was now close to one in the morning and my Christmas pudding had been boiling away in the kitchen for nigh on four hours, much to the chagrin of our hosts (Figgy was taking up valuable stovetop space!) It was at last time for the big reveal… would my culinary endeavours serve to again cement the centuries-auld alliance bewixt the French and the Scots, or would my stodgy sweet meat pudding have me banished from the family for crimes against Larousse Gastronomique?

Looking rather chuffed (and OLD) with my flaming Christmas pud.

The deliciously moist Christmas pudding slipped with ease from the Perspex bowl he had called his home for the previous two weeks. The heady, sweet, rich, dense aromatics of fruit, spice and booze filled the kitchen as I transferred my creation to a serving bowl in preparation for presentation at the table. The lights were abruptly dimmed and the room went quiet as the pudding was brought to the table whilst I attempted to tell the story of the dishes origins and history. I heartily doused the steaming dessert with a few glugs of Gran Reserva brandy and stepped back before setting the alcohol alight, smiling to myself as the brandy ignited and all assembled looked on, the blue flames licking around the dish making it look like the most traditional Christmas pudding ever.

I am very pleased to report that I feel it was actually rather well received. Perhaps everyone was just being terribly polite in an attempt not to hurt my feelings? (My girlfriend had no doubt briefed everyone on my sensitive nature when it comes to my cooking as I was upstairs preparing.) All assembled, bar a couple of quite obviously scared teenagers, sampled a small portion served alongside a good dollop of brandy and vanilla-augmented whipped cream, many coming back for seconds, and one demanding thirds! The concealed “lucky” pound coin was discovered by my girlfriend’s cousin, none other than Michael Sacco of Toronto’s Chocosol. That evening I went to bed feeling extremely happy, a little tipsy, magnificently full, utterly satiated, and, if the truth be told, quite proud of myself. I was also feeling confident about serving the second pudding to my friends on New Year’s Eve back in Toronto.

In Scotland the New Year’s festivities are known as Hogmanay, and for many are a greater cause for holiday celebrations than Christmas itself. Having often been an integral part of many a Hogmanay ho-down of truly bacchanalian proportions, I find as I get a little older and (perhaps) wiser that I much prefer the kind of New Year that we enjoyed this year. It involved the cosy dining room of a friend’s home, eight good friends, some Henri Texier playing in the background, a little grilled Guernsey Girl cheese, a creamy Meatball Linguine, innumerable bottles of wine, a little Löwenbräu (bien sûr!), a playful little kitty called Thelonius, and, of course, a traditional Christmas pudding. Call me old-fashioned…

"a resplendent fireball of mucilaginous deliciousness."

As more often than not New Year’s festivities place a little more importance upon the consumption of libations rather than that of foodstuffs, by the time my second Christmas pud was ready to make an entrance, all around the dinner table had certainly had their fill of the many beverages on offer that evening. It was again coming up for almost one in the morning when I decided that our dessert was finally ready. As the lights went down a hearty cheer went up and all eyes were on the dark and mysterious, soon-to-be-aflame hemisphere. Three good slugs of brandy thoroughly soaked the pudding, and with a flawless ignition (I was getting pretty damn good at this), the blue flames enveloped the final course of our dinner, transforming it into a resplendent fireball of mucilaginous deliciousness.

Perhaps it was the considerable volume of alcohol consumed pre-pudding, coupled with my visceral description concerning the origins of suet (replete with gestures of course), but my fruity-boozy delight was not met with quite the same rapturous reception as it had done in the snowy wilderness of northern Ontario. Saying that, it could have been something to do with the fact that I only had a half carton of whipping cream, and in a pinch had added half a carton of single cream, which of course wouldn’t thicken in the mixer. Quite the predicament. So I did what any budding cook would do and added the obvious to the cream in order to thicken it. Yes, that’s right… some grated parmesan I handily discovered on the kitchen counter. Genius.

The dinner table seemed evenly divided, with one half politely asking if they could please have a little more, and the remainder playing with their food before clandestinely pushing their bowl aside when they thought my eyes were turned. Yes… I saw you.

Nevertheless, I was most happy with my first foray into the world of making traditional Christmas puddings. It is something that I hope to turn into an annual event at my home every festive season from here on in. Even if my family and friends experienced only a fraction of the great pleasure and satisfaction that I personally gained whilst making and presenting the puddings, then it will have been worth all of the trouble. Here’s to this year’s Christmas pudding!

Jamie Drummond on Good Food and Wine: Episode 6 – Adam Colquohoun

Jamie with Adam Oysterboy

This week I chat about oysters over a couple of beers with Adam Colquohoun of Toronto’s Oysterboy.

Press play above to listen to the podcast or right-click here to download it.

Happy New Year!!!

A Happy New Year to One and All

Jamie Drummond on Good Food and Wine: Episode 5 – Alvaro Palacios

Alvaro Palacios and Jamie at the Spoke Club

A couple of weeks ago acclaimed Spanish Winemaker Alvaro Palacios was in Toronto to present his wines at an intimate tasting at Toronto’s Spoke Club. Alvaro and I sat down to discuss his wines and ended up chatting for quite some time. Despite the fact that Alvaro also makes wines in Bierzo and Rioja, in this podcast we focus upon Alvaro’s history and his wines from Priorat.

Press play above to listen to the podcast or right-click here to download it.

Portishead… always a favourite of mine…

ACE!

You want some cheering up?

This will do the bloody trick.

Some new Portishead that is danceable…

Beth Gibbon’s vocal part rips me apart.

Giles Coren’s letter to the Times Sub-editors… Brilliant

I wet myself reading this… so had to share.

“Chaps,

I am mightily pissed off. I have addressed this to Owen, Amanda and Ben because I don’t know who i am supposed to be pissed off with (i’m assuming owen, but i filed to amanda and ben so it’s only fair), and also to Tony, who wasn’t here – if he had been I’m guessing it wouldn’t have happened.

I don’t really like people tinkering with my copy for the sake of tinkering. I do not enjoy the suggestion that you have a better ear or eye for how I want my words to read than I do. Owen, we discussed your turning three of my long sentences into six short ones in a single piece, and how that wasn’t going to happen anymore, so I’m really hoping it wasn’t you that fucked up my review on saturday.

It was the final sentence. Final sentences are very, very important. A piece builds to them, they are the little jingle that the reader takes with him into the weekend.

I wrote: “I can’t think of a nicer place to sit this spring over a glass of rosé and watch the boys and girls in the street outside smiling gaily to each other, and wondering where to go for a nosh.”

It appeared as: “I can’t think of a nicer place to sit this spring over a glass of rosé and watch the boys and girls in the street outside smiling gaily to each other, and wondering where to go for nosh.”

There is no length issue. This is someone thinking “I’ll just remove this indefinite article because Coren is an illiterate cunt and i know best”.

Well, you fucking don’t.
This was shit, shit sub-editing for three reasons.
1) ‘Nosh’, as I’m sure you fluent Yiddish speakers know, is a noun formed from a bastardisation of the German ‘naschen’. It is a verb, and can be construed into two distinct nouns. One, ‘nosh’, means simply ‘food’. You have decided that this is what i meant and removed the ‘a’. I am insulted enough that you think you have a better ear for English than me. But a better ear for Yiddish? I doubt it. Because the other noun, ‘nosh’ means “a session of eating” – in this sense you might think of its dual valency as being similar to that of ’scoff’. you can go for a scoff. or you can buy some scoff. the sentence you left me with is shit, and is not what i meant. Why would you change a sentnece aso that it meant something i didn’t mean? I don’t know, but you risk doing it every time you change something. And the way you avoid this kind of fuck up is by not changing a word of my copy without asking me, okay? it’s easy. Not. A. Word. Ever.

2) I will now explain why your error is even more shit than it looks. You see, i was making a joke. I do that sometimes. I have set up the street as “sexually-charged”. I have described the shenanigans across the road at G.A.Y.. I have used the word ‘gaily’ as a gentle nudge. And “looking for a nosh” has a secondary meaning of looking for a blowjob. Not specifically gay, for this is soho, and there are plenty of girls there who take money for noshing boys. “looking for nosh” does not have that ambiguity. the joke is gone. I only wrote that sodding paragraph to make that joke. And you’ve fucking stripped it out like a pissed Irish plasterer restoring a renaissance fresco and thinking jesus looks shit with a bear so plastering over it. You might as well have removed the whole paragraph. I mean, fucking christ, don’t you read the copy?

3) And worst of all. Dumbest, deafest, shittest of all, you have removed the unstressed ‘a’ so that the stress that should have fallen on “nosh” is lost, and my piece ends on an unstressed syllable. When you’re winding up a piece of prose, metre is crucial. Can’t you hear? Can’t you hear that it is wrong? It’s not fucking rocket science. It’s fucking pre-GCSE scansion. I have written 350 restaurant reviews for The Times and i have never ended on an unstressed syllable. Fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck.

I am sorry if this looks petty (last time i mailed a Times sub about the change of a single word i got in all sorts of trouble) but i care deeply about my work and i hate to have it fucked up by shit subbing. I have been away, you’ve been subbing joe and hugo and maybe they just file and fuck off and think “hey ho, it’s tomorrow’s fish and chips” – well, not me. I woke up at three in the morning on sunday and fucking lay there, furious, for two hours. weird, maybe. but that’s how it is.

It strips me of all confidence in writing for the magazine. No exaggeration. i’ve got a review to write this morning and i really don’t feel like doing it, for fear that some nuance is going to be removed from the final line, the pay-off, and i’m going to have another weekend ruined for me.

I’ve been writing for The Times for 15 years and i have never asked this before – i have never asked it of anyone i have written for – but I must insist, from now on, that i am sent a proof of every review i do, in pdf format, so i can check it for fuck-ups. and i must be sent it in good time in case changes are needed. It is the only way i can carry on in the job.

And, just out of interest, I’d like whoever made that change to email me and tell me why. Tell me the exact reasoning which led you to remove that word from my copy.

Right,
Sorry to go on. Anger, real steaming fucking anger can make a man verbose.
All the best
Giles