The Shortlist (2023 edition)

What are some of the Montreal restaurants, bars, boucheries, boulangeries, cheese shops, and specialty stores that AEB actually frequents?  What are the places that have sustained us through a couple of difficult years?  Here’s a shortlist…

Aliments Viens, 4556B boulevard St-Laurent (Mile End), 514-379-4666—The city’s best source for artisanal charcuterie—and especially mortadella!—also happens to be a very fine butcher shop and specialty foods store.  Their selection of beef, pork, chicken, and veal is well-sourced and expertly butchered.  Their exceptional charcuterie counter (cold cuts, sausages, saucissons secs, pâtés, etc.) is always tantalizing.  And they also sell an excellent selection of conservas, pastas, eggs, cheeses, prepared dishes, and other delicacies.

Bar Henrietta, 115 avenue Laurier W. (Mile End), (514) 276-4282—Chef Eric Dupuis created this beautiful Mile End bar a number of years ago. It’s been a fixture of the neighbourhood ever since. Great wine selection. Lovely cocktails. And a short, but thoughtful, and perfectly executed menu of bar snacks and small plates.

Boulangerie Automne, 6500 avenue Christophe-Colomb (Petite Patrie)—If there’s a better bakery for bread and viennoiseries in Montreal, we don’t know of it.  Our go-to bakery for breads that I don’t bake at home, like baguettes, as well as chocolatines, pains aux raisins, danishes, buns, and other gourmandises.  Truly outstanding, and now working closely with the amazing people at Moulin de Charlevoix to source much of their flour (!).

Caffè in Gamba, 5263 ave du Parc (Mile End), 514-656-6852—For a couple of years now, my café of choice.  Features an extensive selection of third wave coffee beans from across North America, and a top-notch espresso program with some talented (and award-winning) baristas.  Plus, they renovated during the pandemic, and they’ve got a bright, light-hued new look—very L.A., actually—perfect for the New Age.

Camellia Sinensis, 351 rue Émery (Latin Quarter) & 7010 rue Casgrain (Little Italy/Jean-Talon Market)—Not only the best tea shop in Montreal, but one of the very best in North America.  Extremely knowledgeable and well-travelled staff.  Truly magnificent selection of teas from India, Japan, China, Taiwan, and beyond.

Chez Nino, 192 Place du Marché-du-Nord (Little Italy/Jean-Talon Market), 514-277-8902—One of the finest green grocers in Montreal, and an excellent source for rare and hard-to-find products like Buddha’s Hand citron and Rosa di Gorizia radicchio.

Chez Vito, 5180 rue St-Urbain (Mile End), 514-277-1981—A Mile End fixture for decades, and deservedly so.  In addition to their wide selection of meats, cold cuts, and cheeses, they also happen to be an excellent source for Italian specialty food products, including pastas, olive oils, preserves of all kinds, and seasonal delicacies (like imported panettone).

Double’s, 5171 avenue du Parc (Mile End)—Looks like a dive bar. Feels like a dive bar. Acts like a dive bar. But it also happens to be a cheerful, dive-y restaurant that’s overseen by Executive Chef Danny Smiles. The place in Mile End for a smashburger and a martini. Open LATE.

Elena, 5090 rue Notre-Dame Ouest (St-Henri), 514-379-4883—Despite its long history in our fair city, pizza was a sorry affair in Montreal until God Created Elena, and their wood-fired, perfectly blistered, slow-fermented sourdough pies put an end to this travesty once and for all.  Since then, the pizza situation across the city has improved, but it still lags behind other world-class cities. II’ve never been disappointed by Elena’s pies, however—they’re exactly the kind of pizzas I want to be eating regularly, exactly the kind of pizzas that people who live in true pizza towns are spoiled with.  Recent faves:  rossa with stracciatella; margherita; M. Funguy (with loads of mushrooms); artichoke and ham..  And although Elena is best known for its pizza, everything they do, they do well, including top-notch pasta dishes, overstuffed hoagies, a killer wine selection, coffee, and desserts.  They also have one of the very nicest dining rooms in the city, IMHO. And ever since dining rooms became meaningful again, circa 2021, that’s been a great thing.

Épices de cru, 7070 avenue Henri-Julien, C-6 (Little Italy/Jean-Talon Market), 514-273-1118—No other spice shop in the city compares, and, frankly, Épices de cru is one of the finest and most ambitious spice shops in all of North America.  Ethné & Philippe de Vienne have spent decades tracking down the most exceptional spices and herbs around the world in-person.  Their sourcing and their ability to forge contacts are legendary.  Consequently, their selection is spectacular and always of the highest quality.  A treasure.

Etna Pastaficio,, 244 rue Jarry E. (Villeray/Jarry Park), (438) 408-6030—Etna started off as a restaurant and wine bar, but during the pandemic they made a brilliant pivot: they became a pastaficio, an artisanal pasta shop specializing in top-notch, freshly produced stuffed and extruded pastas, as well as wine. Having adapted, they were now better suited to face the public health restrictions and to satisfy a public that was hungry for quality take-out options and well-curated boîte-à-vins. Even better is what’s become of Etna in recent times: from noon to 2:00 pm, five days a week, they offer lunch specials right there in their shop. Wines, many of them natural and biodynamic, are available by the bottle and by the glass. I can’t think of a place I’d rather go for lunch.

Euro-Deli Batory,, 115 rue Saint-Viateur W. (Mile End), (514) 948-2161—Hands down the restaurant we’ve frequented the most in the 25 years since we moved to Montreal (or moved back, as the case may be). Does that mean that Euro-Deli Batory is our favourite restaurant in the city? It’s quite possible. The thing is I only ever order the same handful of things (potato-cheese pierogis, cabbage-mushroom pierogis, clear borscht (winter), cold borscht (summer), kielbasa, and occasionally their multi-decker kanapka (sandwich). We recommend visiting Batory Thursday through Sunday, when their pierogis taste particularly fresh, particularly ethereal. Oh, by the way: apparently some TikTok about Batory went viral in recent months. Ever since, it’s been very busy. This makes us happy. I’m not sure what we’d do without Batory.

Fairmount Bagel, 74 rue Fairmount Ouest (Mile End), (514) 272-0667—In our honest opinion, the definitive Montreal bagel. Don’t get distracted by the silly novelty flavours. Just stick to the classics: sesame, poppy, and everything. If you have any doubts, just order sesame—they are always hot, 24/7/365. There are few pleasures as elemental as biting into a fresh, hot Fairmount sesame bagel just outside the store on a bracingly cold winter day, the steam billowing into the air, the purity and simplicity of that tender, chewy, and slightly sweet flavour—no cream cheese, no smoked salmon necessary!—reaffirming life once again.

Falafel Yoni, 54 rue St-Viateur Ouest (Mile End), 514-424-7767—Montreal used to be a pretty decent falafel town, and then it really wasn’t one for a long, long time.  Thankfully, everything changed a few years ago when Falafel Yoni came along.  Yoni’s falafel game was fantastically strong from the day they opened, but it’s actually gotten even stronger over the years.  The quality is always “top shelf,” and the combination of ingredients that goes into their falafel sandwich is ideal (sauces, salads), especially if you get yours prepared “extra-spicy” (with additional zhug).  Falafel Yoni is easily one of the Montreal restaurants I’ve frequented the most over the last few years, and I always look forward to doing so.  In addition to the falafel sandwich, I recommend the house-made hummus, lemonina, and fries, while Michelle is a big fan of the sabich sandwich (chopped egg, roasted eggplant, etc.).

Fromagerie Hamel, 220 rue Jean-Talon Est (Little Italy/Jean-Talon Market), 514-272-1161—The fromagerie with the city’s largest selection of cheeses also happens to be its best.  

Jean-Talon Market (Little Italy/Jean-Talon)—One of Montreal’s two great green markets, and the one we frequent the most.  Home to a number of places on this shortlist:  Chez Nino, Épices de cru, Fromagerie Hamel, and Camellia Sinensis.

Ma Poule Mouillée, 969 rue Rachel Est (Plateau), (514) 522-5175—Our pursuit of the ultimate Montreal grilled chicken à la portuguaise keeps pushing us east all along the same axis (rue Rachel). First it was Portugalia. Then it was Romados. And now, for the last several years, it’s been the saucily named Ma Poule Mouillée. Their grilled chicken options (quarter, half, whole, or sandwich) are all fantastic, as is their grilled chouriço and grilled squid, but the true revelation might be their Portuguese poutine: fries, sauce, grilled chicken, grilled chouriço, Sao Jorge cheese, and piri-piri sauce. They invented it. They own it. Life in Montreal has never been the same since.

Milano, 6862 boulevard St-Laurent (Little Italy), 514-273-8558—Montreal’s Italian specialty foods emporium.  Essential shopping for Italophiles like ourselves.

Mr. Patty, 5312 avenue Patricia (Montreal West), 514-483-2323—The city’s finest Jamaican bakery, specializing, as their name suggests, in patties.  The veggie and chicken varieties are both excellent, but it’s the beef patty, with its oxtail unctuousness, that is the runaway hit.  Buy them by the dozen!   Exceptional rotis, too.

Pascal le boucher, 8113 rue St-Denis (Villeray), 438-387-6030—This is the full-service, responsibly sourced, and artfully prepared butcher shop Montreal had been waiting for. Attentive, knowledgeable service, and a fantastic selection of the best meat and eggs produced in the region.

Pâtisserie Rhubarbe, 1479 avenue Laurier Est (Laurier Village), 514-316-2935—Stephanie Labelle’s boutique has been a fixture on Laurier East now for over a decade, and while her store has been one of the city’s finest pâtisseries since the day they opened, Rhubarbe keeps getting finer and finer.  Brilliant pastries, outstanding cakes, excellent prepared foods and preserves, and a truly beautiful shop.  What more could you ask for in a pâtisserie?

Piazza Salumi, 6833 boulevard St-Laurent (Little Italy), 514-276-6833—Kind of a mini-Milano, directly across the street from the mega-Milano, generally a lot quieter, and featuring Fumagalli’s exceptional line of imported Italian charcuterie.

Pumpui, 83 rue St-Zotique Est (Little Italy), 514-379-3024—Pumpui specializes in the David Thompson/Pok-Pok/Night + Market school of street/night market Thai food, and we wouldn’t have it any other way. Honest, unabashedly spicy & funky, and often adventurous, Pumpui upended the Thai food scene in Montreal. Don’t be afraid to explore the menu fully—who knows what surprises you’ll find—but don’t forget to order some of their phenomenal chicken wings.

Sabor Latino, 4387 boulevard St-Laurent (Plateau), 514-848-1078—Along with Andes, this is Montreal’s premier source for all things Latin American—Mexican, Central American, South American, and Caribbean. They also have a store up in the Plaza St-Hubert area, but this store, occupying the old Sakaris site on St-Laurent, is our local and we go there all the time. Grocery store, green grocer, butcher, bakery, and restaurant, Sabor Latino has it all. Plus, the service is always friendly and the music (cumbia, rebajada, son, etc.) is always great.

Supermarché PA, 5242 avenue du Parc (Mile End), 514-274-8782—A pillar of the Mile End food scene for decades now.  Quality, selection, and prices are always impressive.

Supermarché PA Nature, 5029 avenue de Parc (Mile End), 514-271-8788—PA’s organic and natural foods division, occupying the former location of the original Supermarché PA.  Similarly impressive.

Tinc Set, 1233 avenue Lajoie (Outremont), (514) 303-0315—Probably our favourite discovery of 2022, and one of our favourite restaurants of 2023. Exactly the kind of casual, friendly, wine-centric tapas bar we’ve always been hoping for in Montreal. Run by the people in charge of the upscale Alma next door, and sharing the same kitchen, Tinc Set occupies a former dépanneur and makes great use of its walk-in beer cooler. The menu is simple, but thoughtful: snacks and tapas (warm olives, pan con tomate, boquerones, patatas bravas, conservas, etc.), a rotating cast of accompanying dishes (a crudo preparation, a salad, a burrata plate, etc.), and two specialties of the house: a whole roast chicken à la barcelonaise and grilled octopus style pil pil. If all that wasn’t tempting enough, the bar is a showcase for Alma & Tinc Set’s wine importation business and it doubles as a bottle shop. An absolute joy of a restaurant.

Vin Mon Lapin, 150 rue St-Zotique Est (Little Italy), 514-379-4550—Talk about a power couple:    Marc-Olivier Frappier is one of the city’s most talented and creative chefs, and a long-time chef and chef de cuisine with the Joe Beef group; while Vanya Filipovic is one of the city’s most gifted sommeliers and a leading figure among its private wine importers (Les Vins Dame-Jeanne being her importation house).  Easily the most remarkable take-out meal of the pandemic that we experienced was a product of their 3rd anniversary festivities earlier this year: soupe aux huîtres à la Bocuse? Yes, please. Now, Vin Mon Lapin is back in action in their recently expanded and refurbished dining room, and the place has been bumping. It’s also back in full swing. Marc-O’s latest coup was a cheeky ode to the iconic grilled ham & cheese sandwich at Harry’s Bar in Venice, one where the ham & cheese had been replaced with scallops and mousseline that was totally hallucinant and such a joy to devour with a crisp rosato. Quite possibly our favourite Montreal restaurant at the moment.

Wilensky’s Light Lunch, 34 avenue Fairmount Ouest (Mile End), 514-271-0247—The one, the only, the original…the home of the Wilensky Special, a hot, pressed, sliced bologna number that happens to be one of Montreal’s few truly great sandwiches.  In business since 1932, Wilensky’s doubles as a museum of sorts, an artifact of Montreal’s former glory.  But don’t spend too much time admiring your surroundings, because service at Wilensky’s is brisk.  We recommend a Special with cheese (Kraft, of course), a soda fountain drink of your liking (we’re partial to their root beer and their egg creams), and a side of half-sour pickles.  Classic. And now they’re over 90 YEARS OLD! Amazing!

Wills (a.k.a. Wills.Beer), 6731 avenue de l’Esplanade (Parc Extension), (514) 708-1070—Ethan Wills and Annika Krausz, formerly part of the Lawrence team, together with Alex Wills (Ethan’s brother), have taken over both the former Alexandraplatz and the former Brasserie du Vieux Montréal complex that housed the vanguard Parc Extension bar/hang-out/festival site. They’ve put their own imprint on it and toned down the post-industrial vibe considerably—the look is simultaneously grandiose and human-scaled and approachable. Natural wines, a small but seductive selection of cocktails, and fine beers (including two at the moment from Greensboro, VT’s legendary Hill Farmstead) are issued from the updated horseshoe-shaped bar area, while the Winneburger truck from the team at Nouveau Palais is parked outside to satisfy your food cravings. One of the city’s hot spots since 2022.

Plum Dandy

Please, don’t forget about Michelle’s Simply Beautiful Plum Cake. It’s brilliant. I mean that.

fig. a: simply beautiful

fig. b: a simple slice of cake

I mean, just look at that. It’s great with coffee and tea, too.

fig. c: part of this complete meal

If you’re lucky enough to still have plums available where you live, don’t hesitate. Find the finest plums you can get your hands on,

fig. d: fine specimens

like these beauties I found at a Polish grocer.

If you can’t find plums, use the best, juiciest prunes you can find, like the justifiably famous pruneaux d’Agen.

If you’re not into prunes, make it with apples.

All I know is that this is a cake that’s capable of generating powerful emotions. When I brought a plum cake to work a couple of weeks ago, one of my T.A.s sent me the following stream-of-consciousness message afterwards: “Please pardon the impropriety of this response. F*** me that was amazing you did an amazing job I loved it I got the last piece way to go that was freaking amazing.”

You’ve been warned.

aj

The Devil Made Me Do It Again

fig. a: free-range plums

Let’s just say you’ve managed to find yourself some lovely early fall plums. It’s not difficult these days—there are still a lot of Italian prune plums around.

And let’s say you’re a fan of chutney.

If you’ve never had it before, plum chutney is truly one of the world’s great preserves, and an absolute joy as part of a cheese platter, especially when served with a sharp cheddar. And if you’ve never made it before, it’s very easy to prepare, and incredibly satisfying.

For my latest batch, I started off by using the basic method from “Micro-batch Jellies & Jams.” I bought 3 litres of plums at the farmers’ market. I halved them and pitted them. I weighed them and then added 40% of their weight in sugar, mixed everything thoroughly and allowed them to macerate in the refrigerator.

The next day, after they’d released their juices, I turned to Nigel Slater’s Hot, Sweet Plum Chutney recipe. You can find it in Ripe. You can also find it on the Serious Eats website. Though I made a few fairly significant changes, I used Slater’s recipe as my blueprint.

The thing is, though Slater’s recipe has a bit of spice to it, I wanted my batch to be even kickier. I wanted it to have some of the fire & brimstone of Devil’s Chutney. So I bumped up the chilies and added a habañero to the mix. I also added some ginger. The results were XXXactly what I was looking for.

XXXtra Spicy Plum Chutney

3 litres of plums

1 tbsp neutral cooking oil, such as canola

1/2 vidalia onion

l nub ginger, peeled and minced

1 sweet red pepper, finely chopped

1 habañero pepper, minced

1 clove garlic, minced

1-2 dried red chilies (preferably arbol, or something similar)

3/4 cup golden raisins

2 tsp yellow mustard seeds

2/3 cup apple cider vinegar

2/3 cup red wine vinegar

black pepper

salt

Heat oil over medium in a large-ish flat-bottomed saucepan and sauté the onion for a few minutes until beginning to turn transparent. Add ginger, chopped sweet and hot peppers, and garlic. Sauté for another minute or two. Add dried chilies (I used 2), raisins, mustard seeds, vinegars, and a healthy dose of freshly ground black pepper.

Bring to a boil, turn down to low and simmer gently for an hour. Adjust the seasoning with salt and sugar (if necessary).

Sterilize your jars and lids.

Continue to simmer gently for another 30 - 60 minutes. Check to see if the chutney has achieved a proper set. You can do so by running a rubber spatula across the bottom of the saucepan with a swift motion. If the chutney parts momentarily allowing you to see a swath of stainless steel, your chutney is ready to can.

Think of yourself as Moses parting the Red Sea. If that sounds preposterous, possibly even sacrilegious, think of yourself as Charlton Heston pretending to be Moses parting a Red Sea of chutney.

When you’ve achieved a proper set, taste your chutney one last time, and adjust the seasoning as needed.

When your chutney is à point, spoon the chutney into your sterilized jars and seal.

My batch made nearly 5 x 250-ml jars.

Within hours, i’d already busted into one of my jars for my first cheese & chutney platter of the season.

fig. b: cheese, chutney, crackers 1

fig. b: cheese, chutney, crackers 2

XXXtra Spicy Plum Chutney is delicious with cheese and crackers. It’s also fantastic with curries of all kinds. And if all that wasn’t enough, it’s lovely with a wide variety of meat & game, including turkey and pork chops.

This chutney is absolutely, perfectly to my liking. Sweet, savoury, piquant. If you want it even more fiery—devilishly so—make your own adjustments. Add some more dried red chilies and/or another habañero chili or two. Or cut to the chase and add a 1/4 teaspoon of cayenne.

aj

Peaches! Ginger! Peaches & Ginger!

And ginger!

It started with peaches, of course. I picked up the best Niagara peaches I could find in Montreal at Chez Nino. Then I had them expertly checked out by our Official Peach Inspector.

fig. a: paw of approval

But on that very same trip to Jean-Talon Market, I scored the most beautiful local ginger from Ferme des Quatre Temps. It was particularly juicy, particularly spicy.

fig. b: now that’s what I call ginger!

Suddenly I had an idea.

I went back home and used the same basic method outlined in “Micro-batch Jellies & Jams.” I peeled and cut my peaches into chunks. I weighed my peaches. I added 40% of their weight in sugar and allowed them to macerate. When it came time to prepare my jam I added a generous amount of grated ginger and its juice.

The resultant jam was magical. The peach flavour was wonderful, but the ginger added additional liveliness and unexpected spice. What a treat!

fig. c: dynamic duo

Even Michelle was impressed. And that’s saying something.

aj

What We Need Now 2: Plum Cake

This is an elegant, truly delicious, and unbelievably simple recipe for a “pantry cake” (a fruit-based, crispy/tender slab cake that doesn’t require any obscure ingredients) that Michelle devised for our friends at Elena and the Remember Skin Contact? cookbook they created this spring as a fundraiser for the Montreal Restaurant Workers Relief Fund after the shutdown went into effect. (Great people! Great cause!)

Imagine a luscious, plum-laden European coffee cake, and you kind of get the gist of this cake and the vision behind it.

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fig. a: no imagination necessary—here it is!

Imagine a cake that’s incredibly easy to make and knocks it out of the park every time.

Michelle had berries in mind when she first invented the recipe, because it was April, berries were due to begin arriving on the scene by June and early July, and the thought of making this cake with blueberries or blackberries seemed like a natural. But she wanted a recipe that would accommodate other fruit options as well, and one of the variations that she was most interested in trying was with plums. Why plums? Well, we love plums, we love plum desserts and plum dishes, and we often find ourselves dreaming of plums—sugar plums, and otherwise. I mean, we did name our preserves line Švestka, after all.

fig. b: early branding

What we didn’t know at the time was that while 2020 has been an absolutely lousy year for virtually everything, it turned into a pretty good plum year. We have an old plum tree that had never really produced in the time we’d known it, but that exploded with fruit this summer.

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fig. c: bumper crop

And plums at the farm stands, farmers’ markets, and co-ops have been tasty and plentiful. In fact, this latest batch of the plum cake was inspired by these lovely, Italian-style Valor plums that we came across on the weekend. So tiny! So sweet! Plus, they look a lot like the Švestka plum!

fig. d: Valor is my name

So, if Italian plums are in season or available where you live, they’d be perfect for this recipe.

But the genius of this recipe is that it will definitely work like a charm with berries of all kinds, and it could just as easily become a cherry or pear cake (and around here, it has). And if you don’t have any kirsch on hand, you could also use other liquors, like rum or bourbon, depending on the fruit. In other words, it’s an incredibly versatile recipe. Stick to the original “luscious, ____-laden European coffee cake” vision behind the recipe, and you should be in good stead.

We highly, highly recommend the original plum version, though. We’re a little partial, of course, but we both think it’s kind of perfect, and I’m quite sure it’s my favourite variation.

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fig. e: Plum Cake, by the slice

Michelle’s Simply Beautiful Plum Cake

batter:

1/2 cup A.P. flour

1/2 cup semolina flour

1 tsp baking powder

1 generous pinch salt

2 eggs

3/4 cup sugar 

1 tbsp sour cream

1 tbsp (or more!) kirsch

1/2 cup butter, melted

toppings:

a pint of fresh plums, pitted and halved (both tart and sweet varieties can be used—just adjust accordingly [see below])

a handful of sliced almonds

1 tablespoon sugar (a little more if your plums are extra tart)

Preheat oven to 350º F.

Butter 8” x 8” square cake pan.  Lay a piece of parchment paper inside that’s large enough to cover the bottom and the sides of the pan.  Butter the parchment paper, too.

Mix dry ingredients in a bowl.

Whisk eggs with sugar until mixture lightens in colour and becomes creamy.  Whisk in sour cream until fully blended.  Whisk in kirsch until fully incorporated.  Whisk in melted butter until mixture is homogeneous.  This whole process should take no more than about 3 minutes. 

Add dry ingredients, and whisk once more until just smooth.

Pour batter into parchment-lined cake pan.

Place plums, cut-side down, over the surface of the batter.  Sprinkle sliced almonds over top.  Sprinkle 1 tablespoon of sugar over top almonds and plums.

Place in the oven on the middle rack.

Bake for 30-35 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the middle of the cake comes out clean.

Place on a cooling rack and allow to cool.

Cut into squares, serve, and enjoy.  This cake is perfect on its own with a cup of coffee or tea, or an after-dinner drink.  But it’s also excellent with vanilla ice cream, or freshly whipped cream.

It’s simple. It’s beautiful. It’s also delicious. What are you waiting for?

aj

Thank you berry much

fig. a: out of the berry patch

fig. b: bloobs & black raspberries

If you’re going to have an absolutely bonkers berry year—and we’re definitely experiencing one in our little neck of the woods right now—there are a few crucial recipes you need to go along with it.  And in my mind, one of them’s gotta be a proper pancake recipe.

Sure, you can fold berries directly into your batter to make, say, blueberry pancakes—you might even have a favourite blueberry pancake recipe on hand—but I’m talking about a “plain” (but definitely not plain) pancake recipe.  One that you can adorn with an unholy combination of butter, syrup, and freshly macerated berries as they come hot off the griddle.  One that will serve you well even when fresh, local berries have gone out of season.  One that’s truly heavenly.

fig. c: out of “the grocery store”

In this case, the recipe I have in mind is one that first appeared in Canal House Cooking no. 6 (“The Grocery Store”) way back in 2011.  But when Melissa Hamilton and Christopher Hirsheimer—the prodigious talents behind Canal House—compiled a year’s worth of their best recipes for their collection Canal House Cooks Everyday the following year, it’s not one that made the cut, strangely.  Hamilton & Hirsheimer were generous enough to share Hirsheimer’s family recipe for “Buttermilk Love Cakes” in their book—and that’s a blessing, there’s no doubt about it—but this recipe is similarly phenomenal, and it’s maybe just a tiny bit easier to get exceptional results with, because it’s maybe just a tiny bit easier to source good sour cream (which this recipe calls for) than it is to source good buttermilk (which the “love cakes” call for).  (Then again, maybe not—depends on where you live.)

fig. d: these gorgeous pancakes are a delicious part of a complete breakfast

Like virtually all of the very best pancakes, these sour cream pancakes are light as a feather and anything but banal.  These are pancakes that turn out beautifully, they’re supremely flavourful, and they marry wonderfully with the mixture of raspberries, blueberries, and black raspberries we’ve been enjoying in recent days.

fig. e: the red & the blue

So without any further ado…

Canal House Cooking’s Sour Cream Pancakes

1 cup sour cream*

3 large eggs, separated

2 tablespoon melted butter

7 tablespoons cake flour

1 tablespoon sugar

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

Vegetable oil

Whisk the sour cream and egg yolks together in a medium mixing bowl.  Whisk in the melted butter.  Put the flour, sugar, baking soda, and salt into a sieve and sift into the sour cream mixture.  Lightly whisk until just mixed [a few lumps won’t hurt anything, according to Hamilton & Hirsheimer].

Put the egg whites into a clean mixing bowl and beat with a whisk until soft peaks form (this takes a bit of elbow grease, but it’s worth it). Use a rubber spatula to fold them into the batter.  Please, for the love of god, don’t overwork the batter.  Keep it light and fluffy.

Pour a little oil on a nonstick griddle or large skillet.  Wipe out the oil with a paper towel, leaving only the thinnest film.  Heat the griddle over medium or even medium-low heat [depends on your range] until hot.  Pour about 1/4 cup of batter on the griddle.  Cook until little holes appear on the surface and the cooked side of the pancake—go ahead and lift the edge to check!—is golden brown, about 1 minute on each side, if your griddle is at the proper temperature.  Slather on the butter, a few good glugs of real maple syrup, and and a heap of freshly macerated and/or fresh berries if you have them on hand.

Devour.

{Makes about sixteen 4-inch pancakes.}

[adapted ever so slightly from Melissa Hamilton & Christopher Hirsheimer’s Canal House Cooking, No. 6, 2011]

fig. f: unholy mess

Keep your berry mixture simple.

Mix together whatever fresh, ripe, local berries you have on hand (as long as they’re nice and sweet—like raspberries, blueberries, black raspberries, red currants, and blackberries**).  Depending on the amount of berries, stir in a tablespoon, or two (or three, or four…) of white sugar (the basic formula we use is about one tablespoon of sugar per cup of berries).  Crush the berries a little as you stir the sugar in evenly, bruising them so that they release their juices more readily.  Don’t overdo it with the sugar, but, if you’re going to sweeten them at all, don’t underdo it either.  This berry mix should be an absolute joy to eat and it should produce a fair bit of beautiful berry syrup, too.

If you prefer, do a mixture of macerated berries and entirely fresh berries, like the combination of macerated raspberries and fresh blueberries you see in the accompanying photographs.

And if you’re a purist, go ahead and top your pancakes with the simple pleasures of fresh, raw, unsweetened berries.  We won’t judge.

But, please, while berries are at their peak—as they are right now—insist on fresh, local berries if you can—preferably ones you harvested or foraged yourself.

aj

* We prefer Cabot Creamery sour cream whenever we can get our hands on it.

** Basically, you want to avoid things like gooseberries and blackcurrants, which are essentially inedible in their raw state (at least by humans).

Days of Fruit & Jelly

Though it’s easy to get the impression these days that virtually everyone has gone back to embracing the joys of canning and preserving, in truth the reality is that very few North Americans ever purchase produce of any kind, let alone go through the trouble of canning.  There are those that are tempted, though.  They’ve read the articles, seen the television programs, listened to the podcasts, bought the cookbooks, and are very much inclined to can and preserve.  One of the things that can hold a lot of potential canners back, however, has to do with quantity.  Most recipes for canning and preserving are high-quantity.  They’re geared toward stocking a pantry for a long winter, or for the apocalypse—whichever comes first.

Small-batch preserve recipes are what most novice canners need, though.  They want to give it a shot, but they’re looking for something that’s not a huge undertaking. Something that doesn’t require a large capital investment. Something that pays dividends.

We discovered the pleasures of small-batch canning years ago, back around the time that we first started experimenting with touristic preserving, or small-batch canning as DIY souvenirs. We didn’t rely on a single set of instructions at the time. We just based our experiments on what we already knew about canning. After all, Michelle was already a pretty expert canner, and had been for some time.  But we’ve always been struck by how little encouragement there is to can in small batches.

Recently, though, we discovered a particularly sublime small-batch jelly recipe, in Nigel Slater’s Tender, vol. 2. This shouldn’t have been a surprise. Slater is exactly the kind of food writer who you’d expect to have written such a treatise, given his devotion to fruits and vegetables and his fine-tuned attention to seasonality and to the pleasures of the garden.  He’s also someone who never expected to become a serious canner, which may partially explain his openness to all different approaches to preserving.  “I find it slightly amusing that I am now the sort of person who makes jellies and jams,” he writes.  “The process is relaxing and somehow good for my wellbeing.  Twenty years ago I would have laughed at the idea of ever pouring cottage garden fruit through a jelly bag, let alone labelling my own jars of jam.  Getting older isn’t all bad.”*

fig. a: high summer berries

Michelle had picked a beautiful mix of berries from our garden—redcurrants, raspberries, and blueberries—and was looking for inspiration.  When she came across Slater’s recipe it struck her as especially well-suited for her needs, even if it was rather unconventional: he recommended virtually no liquid, and his cooking time was very, very short. But most importantly, Slater brought his berry mixture to gel stage before passing it through his jelly bag.  She had her doubts, but she decided to follow the instructions closely, and Slater’s recipe ended up putting her apprehensions to shame. The results were truly exceptional:  the finest, loveliest jelly she’d made in quite a while, and one that required a minimum of effort.

fig. b: still life with quivering jelly

It did require a tiny bit of equipment, however:  a nice, deep stainless steel pan to cook the fruit in, a jelly bag, and some jars.

fig. c: Nigel’s jelly bag

But with its simple method, the small amount of fruit it requires, and its easily adaptable equal-parts-fruit-and-sugar formula, this is a recipe that makes preserving high summer berries as easy and as satisfying as possible.  See a beautiful bunch of berries at the farmers’ market?  Pick them up.  Have some in your garden?   Gather a few handfuls.   Know some friends who happen to have a bumper crop? Unburden them.

Here are the essentials of Slater’s recipe, including its wonderful, somewhat poetic, but very appropriate title:

A Quivering Jelly

450 g redcurrants

A small handful of blackcurrants

450 g white sugar

Put the berries, still clinging to their stalks, into your nice, deep stainless steel pan.  Pour in the tiniest amount of water, barely enough to cover the bottom of the pot, then add the sugar.  Place on the stove over medium to medium-high heat, depending on the strength of your flame/element. Gently bring to a boil, stirring from time to time, and boil for eight minutes, and eight minutes only—“no longer or the flavour will spoil,” according to Slater. Pour the mixture through a jelly bag set over a wide jug or bowl.  Let it be until all the juice has dripped through.  Resist the urge to press the fruit in order to produce more juice.  Doing so “will cloud the jelly,” Slater points out, spoiling its breathtaking translucency.

Pour into clean jars you have sterilized with boiling water from the kettle and dried, preferably in the oven.  Can using sterilized lids, or follow Slater’s instructions by cutting discs of greaseproof paper to fit over the preserve, then covering tightly with a screw-top lid, before storing the jars “in a cool, dry place.”

Of course one of the major advantages of small-batch preserving is that you don’t really have to go through the trouble of canning at all.  Put it in any kind of clean container you like.  Keep it the fridge.  Eat it now.  Enjoy it in the moment. 

This jelly is so utterly perfect, it won’t last long.

aj

*Ain’t that the truth?

Out of the Archives 4: Eat Your Greens, pt. 2

Here's another must-read/must-see/must-try from the archives.  It first appeared 5 years ago to the day, on November 13, 2010.  As was the case in 2010, now's the time--there are plenty of green tomatoes around, and you can often get them for a song.

fig. a:  time to fry

There are still some real green tomatoes kicking around. In fact, depending on where you live, there might still be loads of them. And, along with making your own chowchow, frying them is a pretty great way to make use of the last of the tomato harvest. But even if you find that the green tomatoes in your area have already disappeared, all is not lost. As the Lee Bros. point out, your standard supermarket tomato is effectively a green tomato--it certainly was picked green (generally, very green). So you may need to add a bit of lemon juice and some salt to your sliced supermarket tomatoes to coax out a little flavor and approximate the wonderful, citrusy tartness of a true green tomato, but fried green tomatoes are a classic Southern side that you can make pretty much all year long. If you want to make the real deal, however, and I strongly advise giving them a try, local green tomatoes were still available here in Montreal this week. And their bright, tangy flavor this late in the year made it feel like we were cheating the approach of winter somehow. If only for a moment.

Note: you also need some decent cornmeal to make these fried green tomatoes, and good cornmeal can be hard to find in the Montreal region. The best brand we've been able to locate around here is Indian Head Stone Ground Yellow from Maryland, available at Aubut. 

fig. b:  B Bros.

Even better is Beattie Bros., which is owned by the same parent company, but produced in North Carolina. Though, as far as we know, you can only get Beattie Bros. in the States.

Fried Green Tomatoes

3 lbs green tomatoes
3 large eggs, beaten
3/4 cup whole milk
3-4 cups peanut oil
3 batches fry dredge (recipe follows)
kosher salt, if needed
lemon juice, if needed

Core the stem ends of the tomatoes and slice them in 1/4-inch slices. Set aside. Whisk the eggs and milk together in a broad, shallow bowl.

Pour the oil in a 12-inch or 14-inch skillet (3 cups of oil will suffice for the 12-inch skillet; 4 cups should do for the 14-inch skillet, and the 14-inch skillet will make the task of frying 3 lbs of tomatoes much, much faster--ultimately, whatever size skillet you use, you need an oil depth of about 1/3 of an inch). Heat the oil over medium-high heat until the temperature on a candy thermometer reaches 350º-365º.

Heat the oven to 225 degrees. Set a baker's rack on a cookie sheet on the top rack.

Divide the dredge between two small bowls or shallow baking pans. Taste the tomatoes. "They should have a bright tartness like citrus fruit." If they don't, sprinkle the slices with salt and lemon juice (if you're using supermarket tomatoes, this additional lemon and salt will be necessary). Press 1 tomato slice into the first bowl of dredge on each side, shaking any excess loose. Dunk in the egg mixture, then place in the second bowl of dredge, coating both sides, and shaking any excess loose, before placing the slice on a clean plate. Repeat with more slices until you've dredged enough for a batch (roughly 8-10, if you're using the 14-inch skillet). With a spatula, gently transfer the first batch of slices into the hot oil, taking care not to create splatter, and making sure your temperature continues to hover between 350º-365º.

As the first batch cooks, dredge the second batch according to the directions above, while keeping a watchful eye on the first. Once the slices have fried to a rich golden brown on one side, roughly 2 minutes, flip them carefully and fry for another 2 minutes or so, or until golden brown. Transfer the fried tomatoes to a plate lined with a double thickness of paper towels and leave them to drain for 1 minute.

Transfer the slices to the baker's rack in the oven, arranging them in a single layer, so they remain warm and crisp. Repeat with the remaining slices until all the green tomatoes have been fried. Serve hot with Buttermilk-Lime Dressing (recipe follows).

All-Purpose Dredge

1/2 cup all-purpose flour
3 tbsp stone-ground cornmeal
2 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper

In a medium bowl, sift the flour, cornmeal, salt, and pepper together twice. Stir. Use as directed.

This is a great all-around frying dredge. The Lee Bros. use this very recipe for everything from chicken, to fish, to fried green tomatoes.

Buttermilk-Lime Dressing

3/4 cups whole or lowfat buttermilk (preferably the former)
5 tbsp freshly squeeze lime juice
2 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
1 tbsp honey
1/2 cup finely minced basil
1/4 cup finely minced green onions
1/4 cup finely minced parsley
1/2 tsp salt, plus more to taste

In a small bowl, whisk the ingredients together until thoroughly combined. Cover tightly and store in the refrigerator not more than 2 days.

[these recipes are based very, very closely on ones that appeared in The Lee Bros. Southern Cookbook]

These fried tomatoes make for a fantastic side with any number of dishes, Southern or otherwise. We love 'em with seafood, but then we've been known to have them with barbecue too, and I could easily imagine having them as part of a Thanksgiving dinner. Leftover fried green tomatoes taste pretty outrageous on top of a leftover pulled pork sandwich, too. Especially if you drizzle a little of that Buttermilk-Lime Dressing on top. Just take a look:

fig. c:  deluxe pulled pork sandwich

Oh, and speaking of Thanksgiving and the Lee Bros.: if you haven't had the pleasure of reading Matt and Ted's New York Times exposé on Marilyn Monroe's stuffing recipe from 1955-6 (as it appears in Fragments, a just-published collection of previously unreleased Monroe ephemera), you really should. Not only is it a great read, but Marilyn's recipe is both mysterious (ground beef? Parmesan? City Title Insurance Co.?) and tantalizing. Just look at that picture. Just look at that recipe. 

aj

p.s. Looking for "eat your greens 1"? You can find it here.

Apple Season, pt. 2: "apple pie"

fig. a:  papa's got a brand-new bag

If Vermont has an apple obsession--and it most certainly does--it's also a state that's seriously crazy about pizza, so it's perhaps no surprise that "apple pie" takes many forms here.  Sure, Vermonters love their traditional apple pies--with a top-crust and open-faced, with a slice of cheddar or without, deep-dish or otherwise--but they're also not averse to adding apples to their pizza.  In fact, one of Vermont's great pizzas, Parker Pie Company's Green Mountain Special, features apples prominently.

Inspired by the local scene, and in thrall to a pizza obsession of our very own--a home-baked one--we started making our own "apple pies" last year.  

I'd start by whipping up a batch of Jim Lahey's basic pizza dough from My Bread (2009) a day in advance.  

Jim Lahey's Basic Pizza Dough

500 grams bread flour

10 grams instant yeast

10 grams table salt

3/4 tsp + a pinch (roughly 3 grams) sugar

300 grams water

6 grams olive oil

In a large mixing bowl, combine flours and salt.

In a small mixing bowl, stir together 200 grams (about 1 cup) lukewarm tap water, the yeast and the olive oil, then pour it into flour mixture. Knead with your hands until well combined, approximately 3 minutes, then let the mixture rest for 15 minutes.

Knead rested dough for 3 minutes. Cut into 2 equal pieces and shape each into a ball. Place on a heavily floured surface, cover with dampened cloth, and let rest and rise for 3 to 4 hours at room temperature or for 8 to 24 hours in the refrigerator. (If you refrigerate the dough, remove it 30 to 45 minutes before you begin to shape it for pizza.)

To make pizza, place each dough ball on a heavily floured surface and use your fingers to stretch it, then your hands to shape it into squares. Top and bake.

YIELD:  2 rectangular pizzas

If you need pointers, you can watch this video of Jim Lahey working his no-knead pizza magic in the Serious Eats test kitchen.

When the dough had been allowed for a full 18 hours or so, I'd shape it on an oiled 13" x 9" baking sheet.  And then I'd apply my toppings.

apple slices (thin!), preferably using something that bakes well like a Crispin

sautéed North Country Smokehouse bacon

sautéed onions

Cabot Creamery Alpine Cheddar

chopped flat-leaf parsley

freshly ground black pepper

Bake in the hottest oven conditions you can create, making sure to heat the oven a good 60-90 minutes in advance so that it's truly piping hot.  

And voilà!

fig. b:  apple pie

If you can't find Cabot Creamery's Alpine Cheddar, I pity you, but any quality cheddar or Gruyère will do, although personally I don't think I'd go too sharp with the cheddar.  If you can't find North Country Smokehouse bacon, again, I feel sorry for you, but try to use the tastiest bacon you can get your hands on.

This pizza is a dream come true--a Green Mountain dream.  And it's even dreamier when you make it with the freshest apples you can find, right in the midst of the apple harvest.  In other words, right about now.

aj

Apple Season, pt. 1: apples & chorizo

fig. a:  autumn still life, Vermont

It may be better known for its dairy and its maple syrup, but if you're an apple lover--and I most definitely am*--Vermont stands out as a true Apple Paradise even in a region that's famed for its prodigious apple harvests (think Quebec, think New York, think Ontario).  

For a relatively small state, with a very small population, Vermont produces a lot of apples.  But even more impressive is the sheer variety of apples that are on offer at your local orchards, at your local farmers markets, and at your local co-ops.  Check out the Onion River Co-op (a.k.a., City Market) in Burlington, or the Hunger Mountain Co-op in Montpelier if you really want to see an astounding selection of apples.  Look for apples from Champlain Orchards or, better yet, Scott Farm, whose orchards are managed by a legendary orchardist named Zeke Goodband who hosts an annual Heirloom Apple Day every October over Columbus Day Weekend, drawing generously from the 110+ varieties (!) they produce.**

 Hunger Mountain Co-op alone carries upwards of 20 different varieties of Scott Farm heirlooms at this time of year, in addition to a wide selection of non-heirlooms, like McIntoshes, Macouns, and Paulareds.  Some of our favourites include Cox's Orange Pippin, Esopus Spitzenburg, Fameuse (the "famous" heirloom varietal of Quebec, and one that happens to be notoriously difficult to actually find in Quebec), Ashmead's Kernel, Northern Spy, and Belle de Boskoop, which may just be the ultimate apple for strudel and apple pie (Michelle certainly seems to think so these days).

fig. b:  apples of uncommon character

And if you'd like some help making sense of this cornucopia (we certainly did), there's no better guide than Rowan Jacobsen's Apples of Uncommon Character:  123 Heirlooms, Modern Classics, and Little-Known Wonders (Bloomsbury, 2014).  As it turns out, Jacobsen lives in Washington County, Vermont, not far from our place, but we fell in love with his book before we knew that, and months before we actually got to know him and his family.  

On some level, Jacobsen is a product of Vermont's apple obsession, as is his book.  Jacobsen is an authority on the subject, and an amateur orchardist himself.  But he also had access to a wide range of local and regional expert (including Goodband) when he was researching this book, and he didn't have to venture far to find most of the 123 varieties that Apples of Uncommon Character features.  

In any case, Jacobsens's book is both fascinating and incredibly informative, and its categorizations (which varieties appear early?  which are the best for baking?  which make the tastiest cider?  which keep the best in your cellar? etc.) are terribly useful for people like us who use apples in a wide variety of preparations (pies and desserts, soups and savoury dishes, preserves and pickles, salads, etc.).  It's also beautifully written for a book that's essentially a field guide, not to mention lushly illustrated.  And if all that wasn't enough, it ends with 20 sweet and savoury recipes, many of which are of an uncommon character themselves.

fig. c:  the spy that came in from the cold

One of our absolute favourites from this book is a recipe that works particularly well with a somewhat tart apple, like a Northern Spy.  It's Jacobsen's take on a classic dish from Asturia--Spain's famed cider-producing region--and one that is testament to the ages-old, but still passionate love affair between apples and pork:  Chorizo with Apples.  It only takes minutes to make, and it's insanely delicious.  The addition of apple cider, makes the end result "more apple than apple."  The combination of the warmth of the paprika, the sweetness of the apples and onions, the olive oil, and the pork fat makes for an utterly seductive sauce that you'll want to sop up every last drop of.

fig. d:  apple hearts sausage

Chorizo with Apples

1 Tbsp olive oil

1 lb chorizo (preferably a high-quality Spanish version), cut into half-inch slices

1/2 onion, sliced

1 cup dry hard cider

1 apple (preferably something a little on the tart side, like a Northern Spy), cored and sliced

parsley for garnish

Heat oil in a skillet, add chorizo and sauté until brown. Turn and brown the other side.

Add onion and cider, cook 6 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Add apple and cook another 6 minutes, stirring, until sauce is thick.

Garnish with parsley and serve with a crusty loaf of bread, the better to sop up all that beautiful sauce with.  

This dish is a perfect fall appetizer, especially served with a crisp hard apple cider or a crisp white wine on a crisp autumn evening.  Lay it out with some sliced sourdough bread, a plate of mixed olives, and a small cheese plate, and your meal will be off to a fantastic start.

¡Salud!

aj

* At this time of year, when the apples are particularly fresh and crispy, it's not uncommon for me to eat 4 or 5 in a row after dinner, in addition to the 2 or 3 apples I might have at other times over the course of the day.  

** We were so blown away by the Scott Farm apples we tried last fall, that this spring we took a pruning and grafting workshop with Mr. Goodband in the very early spring, when southeastern Vermont was still blanketed in snow.  This being Vermont, not only was our workshop leader named Ezekiel "Zeke" Goodband, not only did he sport a beard worthy of the Old Testament, but his pruning and grafting lessons were delivered in the form of anti-capitalist parables.

fig. e:  Grafting by Goodband

Lo and behold, a few months later, our apple trees blossomed in a way they hadn't in years.

fig. f:  spring blossoms

From Apple Jam to Crabapple Jelly

We've been listening to George Harrison's All Things Must Pass a lot recently, including its largely improvisatory Apple Jam sides ("Out of the Blue"!).

fig. a:  apple jam

But, when it comes to making tasty jams (or jellies, as the case may be) of our own, we've been focused on crabapples.

 fig. b:  crabapples

In part, that's because there's nothing quite like crabapple jelly:  that colour, that tartness, that natural set.  Most other jellies are either notoriously finicky, or they're just not as gorgeous.

But, mainly, it's because we've had access to a particularly fruitful crabapple tree--when the wild turkeys haven't been shaking it down, we've been free to harvest this tree to our hearts' delight.

 fig. c:  crabapple tree

 fig. d:  freshly picked crabapples

At work, Michelle makes large quantities of crabapple jelly to serve with terrines, mousses, and pâtés.  With these crabapples, she makes small batches of jelly to spread on our toast.  Either way, the method is essentially the same.

Crabapple Jelly à la Michelle

Stem, clean and sort through the crabapples, removing any that are rotten.

Place in a medium/large pot, depending on how many apples you have.

Just barely cover with water.  You should be able to press down on them, getting the water to cover them when you do.

Cook for 20-25 minutes at a simmer until your crabapples are falling apart and fragrant.

Pour through a chinois and let drip.*

For every 10 parts juice, add 6-7 parts sugar, depending on the tartness of your crabapples.

Place the juice and sugar in an appropiately sized pot, bring to a simmer, and cook at a simmer until you reach the gel stage.

A drop of liquid should come off the spoon in a sheet rather than a droplet.

Place in sterilized jars and seal according to proper canning procedures. Or simply pour into any clean glass container and let set, then store in the fridge.   

Voilà!

* You can also use a jelly bag for this step, but Michelle prefers to use a chinois because it speeds up the process.

And, either way, the results are beautiful--to the eye, and to the palate.

fig. e:  crabapple jelly for breakfast 1

fig. f:  crabapple jelly for breakfast 2

Of course, it pays to have homemade bread on hand to enjoy your jelly with,

fig. g:  pain de campagne

but that's another story.

Act fast:  crabapple season is already in full swing.

aj