We didn’t always eat this way

Barry Lazar

Latkes, chruschich, pfefferneus, fruitcake, baked ham with a pineapple glaze, turkey with oyster stuffing … we didn’t always eat this way.

The Flavour Guy is grumpy, trying to put things in balance knowing that the end of the month will bring on a couple of kilos of parties, family fêtes, and late night, very enjoyable binges.

The festive season is for feasting. We once balanced feasts (from the Latin for joyful or merry) with fasts (meaning self-control). Christians have Lent, Jews look to the 9th of Av, the Fast of Esther, and Yom Kippur. Muslims celebrate Ramadan. Many Hindus fast when there is a full moon. I remember when good Catholics did not eat meat on Friday. For Erev Shabbos (Sabbath Eve), we might serve chicken but there was a large jar of gefilte fish if my friend Jean-Pierre came over.

While this was partly religious – it’s hard to be penitent with a full belly – there just wasn’t the amount of food we take for granted.

When grandfather Berel arrived from Eastern Europe a century ago, he left behind a village where greens were eaten in the summer, root vegetables in the fall and fresh meat or fish was, at best, a weekly indulgence. Forget about “the hundred mile diet.” If it grew, swam, flew, or walked (with varying restrictions) you ate it.

The smoked meat we drool over in Montreal is made with one of the toughest cuts from a cow. This is peasant fare. No one back then said “I’d like it lean.” The Yiddish proverb “When a poor man eats a chicken, one of them is sick” makes sense in any poor country today.

Early immigrants to North America were astonished that they could get meat at breakfast, lunch and dinner: bacon and eggs, a hamburger, a nice piece of chicken. What a country! In the old land, only the very rich could eat meat daily. Here anyone could... and three times a day! This was a sign that they had arrived in the promised land. It was the end of the fast.

Those caught in the transition – from old country to new – relished this unending feast because they remembered doing without. It’s there in images, in photographs of older generations who look a little thinner, a little smaller than us. It’s there in the steady gaze, a remonstration that we have it good.

Today, having lost the memory of the fast, the grump in me asks: are we really enjoying the feast? Fortunately there are a couple of bummers coming around – Advent, the 10th of Tevet – check your religious calendar. With so much feasting ahead, there might be a day or two to push the plate away.

Most fasts don’t mean doing completely without, but restricting the diet to basic foods – no meat, no oil – to aid contemplation. As Satchel Paige put it “Don’t eat fried food, it angries up the blood.”

Here’s a dish to help set things in balance. It’s strong on flavour but weak on indulgence. Take a thick piece of stale bread, toast it severely but not burnt. Rub a half clove of garlic over both sides while it is still hot. The garlic will ooze into the toast. Put the toast on top of a bowl of hot vegetable or chicken broth. Add a little grated cheese. Sip slowly and think sublime.

You can reach the Flavour Guy at flavourguy@theseniortimes.com.

A mango, a cup of coffee, and a carrot

Barry Lazar

Adam Leith Gollner wants to make the case for mangoes. Gollner is the author of The Fruit Hunters, a wonderfully bizarre voyage through the realms of those obsessed with fruit. The book is a great read – how many of us will travel to the Seychelles in search of the Lady Fruit? Gollner takes us there and a dozen other places we’re unlikely to visit, all in search of a nice piece of fruit!

Gollner, a Montrealer, was back in town recently, speaking at a public meeting sponsored by the Quebec Writers’ Federation. I was the moderator and one person asked about the current movement toward eating local food. Some have described this as the 100-mile diet, but it’s not that trendy. 50 years ago most food came from local farmers. No one had much of a choice.

Now we have options. If I buy cheese from the Charlevoix, it means that my money stays here rather than going to Provence. Ditto for Quebec versus New Zealand lamb, and fruit harvested from Chateauguay Valley orchards instead of hauled in from Florida.

The Flavourguy is willing to pay a little more for food that’s local and likely fresher and tastier. Quebec garlic has a sharp sweet zest. Chinese garlic reminds me of last night’s bad breath.

But then along comes Gollner. He agrees that buying locally has its benefits but argues that it poses problems. As an example, he offers mangoes.

If I’m shopping for dessert, I’ll probably skip the mangoes and spend my grocery money on something local like Quebec apples, now available year round. But Gollner asks us to think about the political ramifications of only buying locally. He reminds us that Haiti, which is a banker’s note away from bankruptcy, has only one decent export crop left – mangoes, which he says are delicious.

And this makes me reconsider how I shop. No matter how much I buy locally, I am not going to stop having my morning tea or coffee. It will be a long time before global warming means that I can buy these from a Quebec producer. So, already I’m willing to compromise. Actually Haiti does have one other major food export. It’s coffee. So, as I seek out Haitian food products, I’m helping to hold a fractured nation together.

Gollner brings common sense to the 100-mile diet. He’s urging us not to go overboard. Other countries depend upon us too. The 100-mile diet is great at motivating us to support local food producers but, as with everything, sensibility and moderation are equally important as we push our carts through the supermarket. Buy locally when it makes sense but think globally and look for food that tastes great, wherever it’s from.

A propos local food, I was given a foot-long, two-inch-thick carrot by a farmer at the Jean Talon Market the other day. “Cook it in the oven,” he said. I set the oven to 350°F, brushed the carrot lightly with olive oil and loosely folded it in foil. I then did the same thing with a dozen small onions. After 45 minutes, they were sublime. I’m going to be doing a lot of vegetables this way from now on: broccoli, cauliflower, beets, sweet potatoes. It’s easier and tastier than boiling or steaming and needs much less oil or butter than sautéing or stir frying. Best of all, if I forget them for bit, they may get a little softer but the flavour will still be intense.

You can reach Barry Lazar at

flavourguy@theseniortimes.com.

Oil's well that tastes well?

Barry Lazar

I received a bottle of olive oil in the mail a while ago. I don’t often get food products delivered by courier, but a local importer wanted my opinion on a new product. As the Flavourguy, I am predisposed to food that tastes good and costs little. I am not keen on forking over fistfuls of dollars for colourful labels and exaggerated claims. Olive oil – along with its sneaky cousin balsamic vinegar – leads the line in the over-hyped aisle.

“Extra virgin olive oil” is ubiquitous. The adjectives tell us that there should be lower acidity and better quality; that noted, it gets a little slippery.

Technically, regular olive oil is more acidic than virgin which is slightly more acidic than extra. The lower the acidity, the less chance of olive oil going rancid (and yes, it can turn rancid in a warm kitchen after a long time on the shelf). Extra virgin should also be cold pressed which means that it was processed with as little heat as possible. But it really comes down to taste.

The brand delivered to my door was MonteAntico. It is available locally for $16.95 for a 500 ml bottle and it’s even on eBay. Price-wise, it’s not bad since olive oils of this quality can easily sell for more than a decent bottle of Chianti. The real question is, why would you pay more than you need to?

Maybe it’s a gift to impress your friends. In that case, go for what you can afford. Just hope that they like it. Maybe it’s to add a subtle aromatic note to your salads. Well, if you cut it with lemon juice, salt, pepper, vinegar, or Dijon mustard (mmmm…) how much of that extra virgin finesse will make it to the table?

Most extra virgins are meant to be consumed sparely. Italian bread is a good match because it usually has less salt (and less flavour) than a baguette. Or try it on romaine where the bitterness of the lettuce compliments the sweetness, succulence and flavours of good olive oil. Never in the frying pan – as soon as olive oil reaches a useful cooking temperature, the flavours burn off - better to use canola.

So the other night we set up some bottles and asked a half dozen dinner guests to sample them. The mix included a Loblaw’s President’s Choice from Spain, and two with similar names: the MonteAntico and a $3.99 Antica Bontà.

All three are basically OK. Each looks and tastes different. MonteAntico has grassy and herbal flavours; it is a little peppery at the back of the throat with a distinctive style. This is an olive oil that you can appreciate on its own. I liked the flavour but none of the others did. They found it overpowering. The President’s Choice Cataluña was a favourite and is mild. It would work well with most salad dressings. The lowest priced oil – Antica Bonità was hit and miss. In fact, it is not necessarily from Italy. I usually like its mild, slightly grassy taste but I have found that bottles can change. This is because it is packed in Italy.

Here is the caveat. Read the label. “Packed in Italy” is not the same as “Product of Italy.” Almost all olive oil comes from the Mediterranean. So although a bottle claims to be packaged in Italy, the oil could be Tunisian, Lebananese, French or from any country with olive trees. It might even be Italian! The Cataluña uses Abrequina olives and is from Catalonia in Spain. The Monte Antico is even more specific and has its own Italian pedigree.

This authenticity guarantees a level of quality you won’t find in most generics. However, the bottom line is - would I buy the MonteAntico? Probably not. As the only one in my household who appreciates it, I’m not going to save it, like a fine cognac, for when the right palate drops over. But I will continue to look for good quality olive oils. There are tasty ones in other countries, each with its own character. French olive oils tend to be lighter and peppery. Greek ones are heavier with a ripe olive flavour. Many people blend Greek olive oil, at home, with a lighter oil.

In the meantime: try this – crush a clove of Quebec garlic (yes look for it!) with a little salt until it is mushy. It’s worth while buying a mortar and pestle for this. Add some freshly ground black pepper and a half cup or so of olive oil to make a liquid paste. Add white wine vinegar or cider vinegar (the ratio will be about 3 parts oil to 1 part vinegar). Put in a half teaspoon of Dijon mustard to bind the dressing. Let it sit for a half hour before putting it on the salad. Forget Newman’s Own. This stuff is great.

You can reach Barry Lazar at flavourguy@theseniortimes.com.

Potluck Pizza: how to astound your friends and keep it simple

Barry Lazar

The request was cottage country basic. "We're doing potluck. Bring over what you have." A simple request but we were at the cottage and the store was half an hour away. The cupboard was almost bare: a package of whole wheat flour – now why had I bought that? – lots of tomatoes, and some cheese from the farmer's market. Some salad stuff, but someone else was bringing a salad.

A-ha! Pizza. Everyone loves pizza, but few make it. Frankly, after you've baked it a couple of times, you won't want to buy it. I had to make the dough from scratch at the cottage, but the Flavour Guy isn't averse to last-minute inspiration, and will buy raw pizza dough at the supermarket or even beg it from a pizza parlour.

For cottage country pizza, I was going to prep everything and then bring it to the neighbour's for baking. The neighbour had pans and, most importantly, an oven – something lacking chez nous.

For the toppings, the simpler the better. Take fresh tomatoes, 1/3 of a pound or 150 g per person, cut them into small chunks, salt them and let them drain in a strainer or colander for an hour or so. Add fresh herbs – basil and oregano are nice – and ground black pepper. For the cheese, grate a half cup per person of soft cheese such as Mozzarella, mild cheddar, Gouda, Bel Paese, Fontina – these all work well – and mix in a little freshly grated Romano or Parmesan. Mild goat cheese (not feta) is good instead of the others but break it into small pieces and dot it over the pizza. Remember, this is potluck – work with what you have. If you don't have tomatoes try canned or fresh asparagus, thin slices of sweet pepper, cooked broccoli, sliced mushrooms, etc. But don't overload the pie or the crust will be soggy.

The flavour punch comes from the oil: heat a cup of olive oil in a small pot and add a tablespoon or more of finely chopped garlic and a teaspoon or less – depending upon your personal heat quota – of chili pepper flakes. Cook this slowly until the garlic just starts to sizzle and remove the pot from the stove. This spicy oil is fantastic brushed on any flat bread, like stale pita, and cooked on a baking sheet in the oven at a moderate heat – 375°F or 190°C – until the bread is golden.

When everything is ready, turn the oven to as high a temperature as it will take without broiling, around 500°F or 260°C. For baking, a pizza stone is nice but the Flavour Guy is adept with cast iron frying pans or a thick cookie sheet or whatever is handy. Use two oven racks, one at the oven's highest level and the other at the lowest. After the oven is at the right temperature, put the pans in for about 10 minutes and be careful. Use thick oven mitts to bring them out just before you put in the dough. The hot pans give the pizzas a great crust.

Once the pans are in the oven, go into action. Lightly flour your hands and the counter surface. Take a wad of dough about the size of a small grapefruit. Flatten it between your hands and stretch it to a 6-inch circle. Then roll the dough using a rolling pin. No pin? Try a wine bottle! If the dough sticks, shake a little flour over it. Turn the pizza 90 degrees after each pass to keep from overstretching one side. You're aiming for a shape no larger than the pan you're putting it in.

Timing is everything. Take the pan from the oven and put something under it – a wire rack, a trivet, a towel – to not burn the counter. Put the dough in the pan, and slip the pan back to the top rack in the oven. Wait a couple of minutes until the dough comes easily off the pan and the bottom starts to brown. Remove the pan, flip the dough, brush it all over with the spicy garlic oil, then cover it with a handful of tomatoes and another of cheese. Put the pan back on the top rack for about 5 minutes or until the top of the dough starts to brown. Work on the next pizza. When that's ready, take the one from the top rack and put it on the lower rack. Keep doing this until you have them all done. Serve at once with a salad, a bottle of wine and a towel to wipe the sweat from your brow. This is pizza that you've worked for, and it's worth it.

Barry Lazar is the Flavour Guy. You can reach him at flavourguy@theseniortimes.com.

Yesterday's food is today's new experience

Barry Lazar

The coffee is fresh. The toast is hot. The butter spreads across the toast in thin rivulets and puddles. Coarsely textured and creamy richness come together in that first delicious bite.

We fix the coffee to our liking, creating perfection in the first cup – a second cup is never the same – with cream and sugar or strongly flavoured, bitter and black. But what if the coffee is from yesterday’s pot, the toast cold (as they often prefer it in Britain)? Do we throw it out? I once had a wonderful summer dinner at a friend’s that featured lamb chops – far too many – from the grill. When the latter, still filled with food, was hauled back to the kitchen, I asked what he would do with it – thinking of how good a cold chop would taste for lunch the next day, or perhaps cutting the meat from the bones and using it as the base for a stew or curry, or slicing it thin and serving it au jus as the lamb equivalent of a hot beef sandwich, or crisping the slices to rid them of any extra fat and then tossing them with lettuce leaves and an oil and vinegar dressing or… But he said nothing. “Nothing. I’ll throw them out. I don’t eat used food.”

Well, he was doing well for himself and could afford never to eat “used” food. But I knew what he was missing. Flavour changes as food gets “left over” – sugars caramelize further when reheated, textures mutate. Cooking is about making the best with what you have, not making what you have with the best. Think of an apple. The crunch and juiciness and perky sourness of that first Macintosh, or sliced and cooked to golden in a little butter with a sprinkling of sugar and served with pancakes and French toast, or cored and then filled with a mess of raisins, rum, brown sugar, cinnamon, a dab of butter, a pinch of salt, and baked. Yesterday’s apple is not yesterday’s food. It is tomorrow’s compote and the following day’s applesauce.

Even coffee, even toast. Sometimes we need to appreciate how good these are on their own terms. That first cup tastes great but why throw what’s left over down the drain? Just because it’s yesterday’s food?

I put it in the fridge for iced coffee and add whatever’s brewing to the cold pot. Last night’s decaf goes down very well with the day before’s caf. Add ice, a dash of milk and just maybe a spoonful of sugar if aiming for a liquid dessert. Want more? Add a shot from that bottle of hazelnut liquor that was a house-warming gift eons ago and has been sitting on the bottom shelf. Yesterday’s food, indeed! And you’ve saved about $10 off the corner barista.

Yesterday’s toast? Surprise! It tastes good cold. Try it – particularly if it comes from a really good loaf – by itself. Savour the nuttiness and texture. Dry toast, tasted simply and eaten slowly, makes a great snack. Or, cut it into cubes, leaving the crusts on, and fry it in a little oil (or the morning’s bacon drippings) into which you’ve slowly browned a finely chopped clove of garlic. Lightly brown all sides of the cubes, toss them with a little salt and then let them cool on a paper towel. Bag them in the freezer for tomorrow’s salad croutons.

Barry Lazar is the Flavour Guy. You can reach him at flavourguy@theseniortimes.com.

Search out local food and drink

Barry Lazar

Excuse my wine-ing… but did someone make a decision that liquids and solids are no longer to be consumed at the same time? Am I a better person if I detect the herbal notes from a high-priced “extra virgin” (which means low acidic) olive oil? Have I failed to achieve a level of wine-aficionado satori because I can’t tell my Gris from my Albarino? When did food start being work and stop being fun?

The Flavour Guy likes food, likes to eat, likes to chew the fat and then some. The Flavour Guy likes going into an Italian grocery store and having the clerk advise him that the $39.99 bottle of olive oil is actually pretty tasty and would work nicely with whatever salad or meat marinade is going towards dinner. Sure a $39.99 bottle of olive oil is sharp, earthy, buttery, grassy, peppery (choose your adjectives here) and tastes pretty nice on its own – just like that magnificent 1998 Pomerol makes for ambrosial sipping and self-satisfied inhaling – but few people make a dinner of a mere chunk of bread dipped in olive oil and washed down with a glass of wine.

Food tastes best when it’s enjoyed in the company of other food (and other people). Even Château Dépanneur is acceptable in the right company – hamburger for instance, or almost any strongly flavoured dish. The more garlic in the main course, the less likely the Flavour Guy appreciates a sincere Sancerre.

Here’s how to do it: eat some food, drink something refreshing, pause and then do it all over again. Repeat as often as necessary until either the plate is clean or the stomach is full. After a little practice you are likely to be able to achieve both conditions at the same time. The idea is to enjoy what we eat and not be cowed because we don’t know what Angus beef is (it’s a popular breed of cattle).

Why are we looking outside – and feeling ill at ease inside – because we can’t choose the perfect liquid to go with our solids? We live in a region blessed with great beer, superb apple cider, and frankly, lousy wine – however we ignore our natural riches and spend fortunes on imported wines and olive oils (often at the same price). The Flavour Guy favours searching out local foods and supporting indigenous agriculture: PEI mussels steamed with a St. Ambroise blond and later, maybe a slice of mignon de Charlevoix cheese with a small glass of very cold Pinnacle ice cider on the side.

Barry Lazar is the Flavour Guy: flavourguy@montrealfood.com

Mussels for two

• A tablespoon of butter
• A cup of finely sliced Quebec seasonal vegetables (all or some of onion, tomato, leek, garlic, celery, red peppers, carrots)
• Lots more chopped garlic (make sure it’s from Quebec, it’s worth it).
• A half bottle of beer (I’m afraid you’ll have to drink the rest).
• A ¼ teaspoon of salt
• A kilo bag of mussels (if the mussels come in a 5 pound bag – double the other ingredients). Make sure the mussels are tightly closed when you buy them.
• A handful of fresh parsley, finely chopped

Melt the butter and cook the veggies over low heat until the onion is soft but not brown. Add the beer, salt and mussels. Bring it to a boil and then quickly reduce it to simmer. Cover. Stir the mussels once or twice. It’s ready when the mussels are open. If a few don’t open, discard them. Sprinkle parsley over the mussels. Serve with a baguette, Quebec cheeses and a green salad.