Beer buddy Alexandre was rallying some of the troops for a Montreal pub crawl the night before the March in Montreal (MIM) Beer Event. MIM is a reason to go to Montreal, and I have been to it the past 12 years in a row. I am pretty sure that despite the claims of one Montrealer, I am the only person to have been to all of them, and I live in Halifax.
Alexandre wants to start at his local pub, a very nice little spot way up on Saint Laurent neat St. Zotique called Vice et Versa. This place's claim to fame is a complete reliance on Quebec produced products, from cheese, to bread, to meats, to drink. There are about 20 beers on tap, all micros, most of which I have never had.
I beat Alexandre there, and order a 1/2 pint of the Brasseurs et Freres IPA (5.6% - ok, thinish, nice hops) to help me contemplate a theme for the evening. Plans were to end up at Le Cheval Blanc, a long ways away, which meant that there were a lot of potential stops in between. But we had until 10 am the next day, when the conference started....
Alex arrives shortly after 5 pm. No one else will be joining us here, as they will be meeting us at Dieu de Ciel, on Laurier and Clarke, about a 15 minute walk away. I'm hungry, and know enough to know I'll need some food for the evening. I order a cheese and pate plate, and follow Alex's habit of ordering a small size glass they sell at Vice et Versa called a "Galopin". It is sort of a large sampler glass. Maybe 4 ounces. I try the Bieropholie Cascade IPA, which was excellent; the Hopfenstark, post Colonial (IPA) 6.5%, drying hop bitterness with good malt balance; and the Hopfenstark, Ostalgia Rousse, nice, hoppier than expected.
True to form, I want more than 4 ounces of a beer. When my food arrives, and to cleanse my palate of the hops, I order a pint of Trois Mousquetieres, Dartagnan Lager, which was clean, a bit grainy, but with a nice malt character and trace of sulfur on the nose. The cheeses and pates are served with great olives (Quebec olives?) and nice breads, some toasted. This makes me happy.
Shortly, we are ready to begin the trek. The success of the IPA tasting here has set my theme, and I'm off to try as many IPA's, or beers close to that, as I can.
At Dieu de Ciele, the Corne de Diable IPA is on cask, on the hand pump. It is against my religion to not have a full pint of cask conditioned beer. This one is soft in the mouth with a very complex malt profile, and long long finishing hops with some vegetal notes. It is strange being here without cigarette smoke....
We hold down the end of the bar for a while, now joined by one of Alexandre's friends, who I'd met the night before. We are subsequently joined by another local beer guy, and once he has his taste, we are off to the Sergeant Recruiteur, not far away, just down Saint Laurent. There I have a pint of Sergeant Recruiteur Hip Hop IPA, which was very yummy, Northern Brewer hops I was guessing, traditional style, and balanced.
We picked up another member of the crawl here, one of the Ontario CABA crowd in for the next day's event. He was on the other side of the bar, and looked familier form previous MIM's.
Next stop was the Reservoir on Duluth, just off Saint Laurent. I had the IPA, a pint (surprised?). This beer was the best I have ever had at this place, known more for its excellent menu (it is really a bistro, well above pub food), with a good balance and chewey hop palate.
From the Res' we head down the hill (this is the right direction to do a walking pub crawl) and decide that the walk to the next brewpub, Amere a Boire, is too far for our liking (or was that bladders?) and we pay a visit to Else's Cafe, a great little neighbourhood pub/resto that is on Le Boullion. There I have a pint of L'Alchimiste IPA (clean, crisp hopping, slightly thin malt, bitter finish), and scarf down three (count em!) samosas, with some hot hot chutney, that went great with the beer.
After the food, we head off to Amere a Boire, on Saint Denis just above Ontario, having lost one of our party to the proximity of his hotel (it is now fairly late, or early, depending on how you look at it). Once there I have a pint of Amere a Boire Pale Ale, a hoppy bitter on cask and hand pump, that is as refreshingly hoppy as most of the IPA's of the evening.
A nod to the bartender, and we are off down the street to the Cheval Blanc. The place is still packed. I get a pint of the Cheval's India Rouge, a hoppy amber ale that is good, but has some slightly hot alcohol and balance issues. Or is that the samosas?
This ought to be the place where we eschew walking and get a cab to Brutopia for their IPA, but I am the only one doing an IPA theme (I didn't mention that, did I?) so we continue on to a nearby place called Yer Mad. This is the mead and cider bar (as well as beer) that Alexandre introduced me to a couple of years ago.
Alex is still in sampler mode, so we try a bunch:
Four Meads: Benoite, Verge d'Or, Marie Clos, Cap des Tourmentes (all good)
Three Ciders: Cheval de Glace, Kerissac, Verger de Minot (I loved the Kesissac)
and a Pommier, blend of mead, cider and Calvados, from a producer whose name escaped me.
We close the bar down.
Of course, no pub crawl that closes the bars in Montreal (3 am) is complete without putting the correct cap on the contents of your abused stomach. We head back up the hill to Deluxe Fries on Saint Denis for a final shot of Poutine.
We all head back to our respective beds, me to wake up the next morning at 9, to shower, and then find my way down the street to begin the beer conference with a breakfast of beer - weizen, and doughnuts.
I am shortly heralded as the king of IPA drinkers... Well, it was not a bad evening. One must really drink full pints to get the full effect, mustn't one? And it really is all about pacing oneself and not going without food.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Athenian Brunch
It is Saturday, in between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Resurrecting myself from the near dead, I am ready for some sustenance around noon. L and I head out in the general direction of Quinpool Road, passing various lunch/brunch options until we are in front of the Athens, a place we used to haunt, but have gotten away from of late. There are plenty of seats, so, why not, for old time’s sake?
Inside we wait innocently to be seated, and oddly, the first person to notice the lineup walks right by us and asked the person behind us how many are in their party. OK, I didn’t have a morning shower, alright! But maybe she could have at least wrinkled her nose as she totally ignored me. Sheesh….
Feeling like chopped liver, we get seated by another staffer who apparently noticed what had happened, and who seated us with a grin, making some minor apology for her cow-worker’s action.
Things get better from here, though.
The service we eventually get is great, fast and attentive. My fish cakes were really good, a mix of salt cod and fresh cod, with a crispy outer and soft inner. Not too salty, either, which is hard to do. The home fries are good (though not approaching those at Johnny’s), the toast not too burnt, and I am happy. L has poached eggs and toast, with sausages that she makes disappear in short time.
The coffee is OK, and is replenished at suitable interval.
The odd thing is that, unlike my memory of this place, it is not packed. There are ample open seats (we scored one of the booths right along the window) and good service is easy to provide because of that. We have some problem getting a bill to leave, perhaps being caught in the middle of a shift change, but otherwise, a solid Halifax brunch experience.
Inside we wait innocently to be seated, and oddly, the first person to notice the lineup walks right by us and asked the person behind us how many are in their party. OK, I didn’t have a morning shower, alright! But maybe she could have at least wrinkled her nose as she totally ignored me. Sheesh….
Feeling like chopped liver, we get seated by another staffer who apparently noticed what had happened, and who seated us with a grin, making some minor apology for her cow-worker’s action.
Things get better from here, though.
The service we eventually get is great, fast and attentive. My fish cakes were really good, a mix of salt cod and fresh cod, with a crispy outer and soft inner. Not too salty, either, which is hard to do. The home fries are good (though not approaching those at Johnny’s), the toast not too burnt, and I am happy. L has poached eggs and toast, with sausages that she makes disappear in short time.
The coffee is OK, and is replenished at suitable interval.
The odd thing is that, unlike my memory of this place, it is not packed. There are ample open seats (we scored one of the booths right along the window) and good service is easy to provide because of that. We have some problem getting a bill to leave, perhaps being caught in the middle of a shift change, but otherwise, a solid Halifax brunch experience.
Not to hard, not too soft
Our final formal meal of the Montreal visit is planned to be with ME, F and J in the Anglais part of Montreal, NDG. I think NDG stands for Notre Dame de Grace, but because everyone there is English, they refuse to say it long hand, and say "Endeegee" instead. Damn English!
The place we go is called Al Dente. It is a cool small place below grade on the east side of Monkland, about a 10 minute walk from Villa Maria Metro. Best of all, it is a BYO with no corkage. I bring the wine. And I don't just bring any wine. Planeta Cometa - Fiano, 2005 - $35; and Rainoldi Inferno, Valtellina Superiore, Nebbiolo, 2003 - $23). Very cool wines in terms of geek factor, and they were wonderful as drinks or with the food.
We all had fairly simple pasta, pizza, or risotto dishes. All just fine, nothing to blow you away, but very good, inexpensive, and free corkage. God I wish we had this here. Can anyone with $$ buy Milano's and make it work this well?
The place we go is called Al Dente. It is a cool small place below grade on the east side of Monkland, about a 10 minute walk from Villa Maria Metro. Best of all, it is a BYO with no corkage. I bring the wine. And I don't just bring any wine. Planeta Cometa - Fiano, 2005 - $35; and Rainoldi Inferno, Valtellina Superiore, Nebbiolo, 2003 - $23). Very cool wines in terms of geek factor, and they were wonderful as drinks or with the food.
We all had fairly simple pasta, pizza, or risotto dishes. All just fine, nothing to blow you away, but very good, inexpensive, and free corkage. God I wish we had this here. Can anyone with $$ buy Milano's and make it work this well?
Monday, April 02, 2007
Pupuseria La Carreta
Now how's THAT for a title. I am damn near trilingual!
Never having eaten El Salvadoran anything, I am sure, I figured that this Montreal trip could continue the Chilean inspired theme of Latin American food. La Carreta (the cart) was recommended by several people and in a few online sites, so we headed off to explore Little Italy, and to find our first pupuseria.
We arrived to a pretty full, lively place, full mostly of people who very well could have been El Salvadorans (Salvadorians?). I don't know. I didn't ask (L would not let me).
The server who came to greet us, and seated us at a great window table was wonderful. How wonderful? She took the time to describe everything on the menu to us, in English, recommended two different mixed plates when we said we wanted to sample as much different stuff as possible, and even showed us the correct way to eat it. This is always good, as sometimes when I have encountered a "new to me" food, I wonder when eating it in public if the locals are snickering behind their rice bowls, or whatever they have in front of their faces.
The food is almost as wonderful as the server (did I mention she was cute too?).
It consisted of:
pupusa (masa pancake with cheese inside that you cover with a coleslaw type thing before eating like a pizza) it is these that give these places their name.
yuca (fried root veg, I think, this came out like nice like home fries)
tamale de pollo - steamed corn polenta with chicken inside
taco (beef) homemade corn taco with beed/tomato pepper filling.
enchilada di carni (crispy round thin corn with beefy meat/veg/ etc on top)
y casamiento (blue frijoles and rice) Frijoles is refried beans, I think. This means a "marriage" of beans and rice. Ahhh, romance and food. I think this brought tears to L's eyes.
And to drink we had Fresca maranon and Fresca de horchata. I believe the second one is the one that was cinnamon and cocoa like, but was reminiscent of almonds. Correct me. Go ahead!
We ate til we could hardly move. But move we did, on to the nearby Jean Talon Market and a major beer buy at the Marché des Saveurs de Quebec.
Never having eaten El Salvadoran anything, I am sure, I figured that this Montreal trip could continue the Chilean inspired theme of Latin American food. La Carreta (the cart) was recommended by several people and in a few online sites, so we headed off to explore Little Italy, and to find our first pupuseria.
We arrived to a pretty full, lively place, full mostly of people who very well could have been El Salvadorans (Salvadorians?). I don't know. I didn't ask (L would not let me).
The server who came to greet us, and seated us at a great window table was wonderful. How wonderful? She took the time to describe everything on the menu to us, in English, recommended two different mixed plates when we said we wanted to sample as much different stuff as possible, and even showed us the correct way to eat it. This is always good, as sometimes when I have encountered a "new to me" food, I wonder when eating it in public if the locals are snickering behind their rice bowls, or whatever they have in front of their faces.
The food is almost as wonderful as the server (did I mention she was cute too?).
It consisted of:
pupusa (masa pancake with cheese inside that you cover with a coleslaw type thing before eating like a pizza) it is these that give these places their name.
yuca (fried root veg, I think, this came out like nice like home fries)
tamale de pollo - steamed corn polenta with chicken inside
taco (beef) homemade corn taco with beed/tomato pepper filling.
enchilada di carni (crispy round thin corn with beefy meat/veg/ etc on top)
y casamiento (blue frijoles and rice) Frijoles is refried beans, I think. This means a "marriage" of beans and rice. Ahhh, romance and food. I think this brought tears to L's eyes.
And to drink we had Fresca maranon and Fresca de horchata. I believe the second one is the one that was cinnamon and cocoa like, but was reminiscent of almonds. Correct me. Go ahead!
We ate til we could hardly move. But move we did, on to the nearby Jean Talon Market and a major beer buy at the Marché des Saveurs de Quebec.
The Vegans are coming!!!
Is this a scene from the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy? No, wait, that's Vogons.
A visit to Montreal's Au Vivre! restaurant, on St. Laurent above Mont Royal.
We were all hungry, and I figured what we didn't eat could come with us.
We started with corn bread with vegan butter, moist, aromatic, with some sweet red pepper bits in it. I am still not exactly sure about whatever that stuff was they called vegan butter.
Lunch came with a green salad with really good dressing, creamy dill (no dairy though...) and other tastes.
Then it was pizza with vegan cheese, red pepper and sun dried tomato sauce. This had a fantastic crust. This place is a great bakery.
I had the Chana sandwich - chickpea and potato curry in homemade Indian flatbread wrap. Delicious, filling, and providing me with plenty of aerosol assisted walking speed for the rest of the day. I also had a pina colada smoothie with my Chana - a tasty combination.
For dessert I had Cafe latte with a great, homemade style chocolate brownie.
L had a veggie burger and salad, and a coffee frappe smoothie for dessert, Clank a "BLT" made with coconut bacon, and a banana chocolate soy silk pie.
A great meal, and no animals were harmed, or even asked to give up their fluids, in the making of it.
A visit to Montreal's Au Vivre! restaurant, on St. Laurent above Mont Royal.
We were all hungry, and I figured what we didn't eat could come with us.
We started with corn bread with vegan butter, moist, aromatic, with some sweet red pepper bits in it. I am still not exactly sure about whatever that stuff was they called vegan butter.
Lunch came with a green salad with really good dressing, creamy dill (no dairy though...) and other tastes.
Then it was pizza with vegan cheese, red pepper and sun dried tomato sauce. This had a fantastic crust. This place is a great bakery.
I had the Chana sandwich - chickpea and potato curry in homemade Indian flatbread wrap. Delicious, filling, and providing me with plenty of aerosol assisted walking speed for the rest of the day. I also had a pina colada smoothie with my Chana - a tasty combination.
For dessert I had Cafe latte with a great, homemade style chocolate brownie.
L had a veggie burger and salad, and a coffee frappe smoothie for dessert, Clank a "BLT" made with coconut bacon, and a banana chocolate soy silk pie.
A great meal, and no animals were harmed, or even asked to give up their fluids, in the making of it.
A Victual Ritual
Schwartz's on St. Laurent in Montreal for lunch. I walk in at 11:51 am, and there are plenty of stools open along the lunch counter. I sit down, and in a minute or two the place is packed and lining up.
The usual. Smoked meat sandwich, regular (i.e. level of fat in the meat, you choose lean, regular or extra fat), fries, with a cherry cola from Cott Beverages. It arrives in about 2.5 minutes.
The guy sitting next to me writes for the Gazette on the Habs. He is talking to the waiter about how Huet will start against Buffalo, as he always stones them. I read the same thing in his column the next morning.
The fries are great as usual. The smoked meat is classic - almost corn beef, but not quite. The rye bread so fresh. Even the small sandwich and fries is more than enough. I wonder how I used to eat a small plate and side of fries! This stuff certainly does sit in one's stomach with intense gravity. A good base on which to drink.
The usual. Smoked meat sandwich, regular (i.e. level of fat in the meat, you choose lean, regular or extra fat), fries, with a cherry cola from Cott Beverages. It arrives in about 2.5 minutes.
The guy sitting next to me writes for the Gazette on the Habs. He is talking to the waiter about how Huet will start against Buffalo, as he always stones them. I read the same thing in his column the next morning.
The fries are great as usual. The smoked meat is classic - almost corn beef, but not quite. The rye bread so fresh. Even the small sandwich and fries is more than enough. I wonder how I used to eat a small plate and side of fries! This stuff certainly does sit in one's stomach with intense gravity. A good base on which to drink.
On the Main
An evening out for a quick meal on St. Laurent, we drop into The Main, across the street from Schwartz's, for supper. L has a delicious borscht - I think any soup here would always be great - and follows that with a strange sandwich combo - smoked chicken and liverwurst. I am not sure she knew what she was ordering.
Clank, the vegan, chows down on latkes, no cheese. He is kept mostly quiet by this. I steal some from him (he is blind, so he didn't notice) and they are yummy.
My meal is the Barbecued Rib special of the day. Now you may be old enough to remember the Flintstones original cartoon series. In the intro, while the "Meet the Flintstones" song is playing, Fred and family scoot up to a drive through and he gets a set of ribs, that when hung on the side of the car, cause it to tip over. Remember that? Well, these ribs were almost that big. Done in a honey garlic style, there was a lot of work to scour the meat off the bones, but it sure was worth it. And then you could use the bones to play hurling with.
We passed on the cake, though I think that was a major strategic error, as apparently all the desserts here are handmade at home by the owner's wife. Next time. And there will be one.
Clank, the vegan, chows down on latkes, no cheese. He is kept mostly quiet by this. I steal some from him (he is blind, so he didn't notice) and they are yummy.
My meal is the Barbecued Rib special of the day. Now you may be old enough to remember the Flintstones original cartoon series. In the intro, while the "Meet the Flintstones" song is playing, Fred and family scoot up to a drive through and he gets a set of ribs, that when hung on the side of the car, cause it to tip over. Remember that? Well, these ribs were almost that big. Done in a honey garlic style, there was a lot of work to scour the meat off the bones, but it sure was worth it. And then you could use the bones to play hurling with.
We passed on the cake, though I think that was a major strategic error, as apparently all the desserts here are handmade at home by the owner's wife. Next time. And there will be one.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
How many beers does it take to butter chicken?
Mississauga. If any word ever struck fear in the heart of a Maritimer who likes good urban form, this is it. This is an entire city of Clayton Park West. The mall gone mad, the car king forever, and the pedestrian a forgotten afterthought, no more than the sputum of a parked car.
This is what is coursing through my mind as my buddy Richard manoeuveurs through rush hour traffic from one part of Miss..etc to another. He patiently waits through three cycles of a light before getting through to the privilege of yet another similar wait, to exclaim that the traffic isn't that bad!
We get to where he is going. A place called the West 50 Pourhouse and Grille - I thnk it is named after a mall. But I am sure there are children here named after malls.
We manage to find our way in, after dropping $6 on a flat rate parking scheme/ripoff across the street. Turns out we come in the back door. The front door is from the second floor of a mezzanine off an office building lobby. I like our entrance better.
The blonde, stylish bartender greets us as if we are old friends. I find myself looking behind me. (You don't mean, me, do you?)
The line of taps is impressive. And included among the many many Canadian beer-by-label brands, are a number of great brews. OK, I can stand the place.
The menu is presented (we planned to eat here) and we order. Having seen that just about every single person I saw on the street (pedestrians) was of Indo-asian descent, I cleverly order the Butter Chicken. Richard wisely orders what the bartender tells him to.
I am enjoying my beers. Nothing off, great micro selections, prices not bad.
My $12.95 "butter chicken" arrives. Now I am not sure if anyone in that place has ever seen, tasted, or heard of "butter chicken" outside of the label on a can of commercially pre-done sauce. My "butter chicken" (really, it would be criminal to call it butter chicken without the quotes) is a pre-packaged leg/thigh/side of chicken that has obviously spent a lot of time in a brine packet awaiting consumption. The flesh has turned a cured pink. A (very) slight nod to India is accomplished with a dollop, a sparse one at that, of a commercially packed "butter chicken" sauce.
I am staring at this abomination of cuisine while Richard mows down his beef sandwich and fries thingy. When I try it, it is so salty I can hardly eat it - it burns. BLOOD PRESSURE ALERT!! BLOOD PRESSURE ALERT!! BLOOD PRESSURE ALERT!!
There is not enough "butter chicken" sauce to get my rice dirty.
We sat at the bar. There were some comfy looking seats and couches that the bartender told us would soon be full with after work types.
It is a darn good thing the bartender was cute, and friendly.
If you are in Mississauga (Lord help you) and you need a good beer (as we all do from time to time) then go here, if you can find it. But don't have great expectations for food. That way, you won't be so disappointed. Or better yet, don't eat.
But oh God, how I wished we were at the Winking Judge. Bill likes me, for some reason. Maybe it was the kegs of beer I brought him from Propeller and the Pumphouse back in 2001?
This is what is coursing through my mind as my buddy Richard manoeuveurs through rush hour traffic from one part of Miss..etc to another. He patiently waits through three cycles of a light before getting through to the privilege of yet another similar wait, to exclaim that the traffic isn't that bad!
We get to where he is going. A place called the West 50 Pourhouse and Grille - I thnk it is named after a mall. But I am sure there are children here named after malls.
We manage to find our way in, after dropping $6 on a flat rate parking scheme/ripoff across the street. Turns out we come in the back door. The front door is from the second floor of a mezzanine off an office building lobby. I like our entrance better.
The blonde, stylish bartender greets us as if we are old friends. I find myself looking behind me. (You don't mean, me, do you?)
The line of taps is impressive. And included among the many many Canadian beer-by-label brands, are a number of great brews. OK, I can stand the place.
The menu is presented (we planned to eat here) and we order. Having seen that just about every single person I saw on the street (pedestrians) was of Indo-asian descent, I cleverly order the Butter Chicken. Richard wisely orders what the bartender tells him to.
I am enjoying my beers. Nothing off, great micro selections, prices not bad.
My $12.95 "butter chicken" arrives. Now I am not sure if anyone in that place has ever seen, tasted, or heard of "butter chicken" outside of the label on a can of commercially pre-done sauce. My "butter chicken" (really, it would be criminal to call it butter chicken without the quotes) is a pre-packaged leg/thigh/side of chicken that has obviously spent a lot of time in a brine packet awaiting consumption. The flesh has turned a cured pink. A (very) slight nod to India is accomplished with a dollop, a sparse one at that, of a commercially packed "butter chicken" sauce.
I am staring at this abomination of cuisine while Richard mows down his beef sandwich and fries thingy. When I try it, it is so salty I can hardly eat it - it burns. BLOOD PRESSURE ALERT!! BLOOD PRESSURE ALERT!! BLOOD PRESSURE ALERT!!
There is not enough "butter chicken" sauce to get my rice dirty.
We sat at the bar. There were some comfy looking seats and couches that the bartender told us would soon be full with after work types.
It is a darn good thing the bartender was cute, and friendly.
If you are in Mississauga (Lord help you) and you need a good beer (as we all do from time to time) then go here, if you can find it. But don't have great expectations for food. That way, you won't be so disappointed. Or better yet, don't eat.
But oh God, how I wished we were at the Winking Judge. Bill likes me, for some reason. Maybe it was the kegs of beer I brought him from Propeller and the Pumphouse back in 2001?
Montreal - La Popesa
After a drive from Moncton to Montreal, and only a chicken soup and grilled cheese sandwich at a Big Stop to fuel me, I am ready to join L, and her brother and his gal for dinner out on St. Denis. We go to an old favorite, La Popesa, near Ave des Pins on St. Denis on the east side. This place does pretty well any kind of pasta from around the world, and allows you to choose a sauce from a large amount of different suggestions.
I have a Linguini with Beef Stroganoff that is earthy, hearty and hits the spot. Washed down with a bottle of Boreal Rousse, an old standard, once a micro fighting for a chance, now a medium size brewery fighting the upstart micros for its hard won market share. My meal is about $15 all in.
Taking it easy, I call it a night, as the drive tomorrow morning to Trawna looms.
I have a Linguini with Beef Stroganoff that is earthy, hearty and hits the spot. Washed down with a bottle of Boreal Rousse, an old standard, once a micro fighting for a chance, now a medium size brewery fighting the upstart micros for its hard won market share. My meal is about $15 all in.
Taking it easy, I call it a night, as the drive tomorrow morning to Trawna looms.
A Pyramid Scheme
Post Rogues Roost, we have not eaten. The general idea was to go to jane's on the common, but when we arrive it is jammed. So we amble up Cunard to the Pyramid Cafe. Lebanese themes beckon, and we are soon chomping up some very good stuff.
My Foul Madamas(chick peas/beans in a spicey broth) is excellent, though not as good as at Tarboosh. The rest of my meal is very good. J&J are happy with their meals, but one wonders, are they ever unhappy when they are with each other?
The food is good to very good. As we were about the only people there, the service was hard to judge, and concern about their security as a business (this was Friday night, prime time) is also elevated.
I hope they keep up the good food, and perk up the service. Other reports, including one in one of the local papers have commented on the slow service when the place has some people in it.
It is so close to my house, I'll be back.
My Foul Madamas(chick peas/beans in a spicey broth) is excellent, though not as good as at Tarboosh. The rest of my meal is very good. J&J are happy with their meals, but one wonders, are they ever unhappy when they are with each other?
The food is good to very good. As we were about the only people there, the service was hard to judge, and concern about their security as a business (this was Friday night, prime time) is also elevated.
I hope they keep up the good food, and perk up the service. Other reports, including one in one of the local papers have commented on the slow service when the place has some people in it.
It is so close to my house, I'll be back.
Rouge All Over
Not one to limit punishment to myself, I managed to combine my trip back from Freddy (the wine judging) with a stop in Moncton for some work, but then to attend a wine tasting at Rouge Restobar in Moncton.
The bar there is more impressive than that at Onyx.
The talented and beautiful Tammy was our hostess, and Moncton man about wine Bill Vance led a tasting of wines from the portfolio of a reputable agency.
Five wines, blind. I am not sure how, especially after tasting I don't know how many wines the day before, but I managed to identify all of the five in terms of what they were, and where they were from (i.e. Napa Merlot).
Then it was supposed to be over. Rouge was closed on Mondays after all, only open for the special occasion. But it went on. The bar shut down, we stayed. It is all a mess after that.
The bar there is more impressive than that at Onyx.
The talented and beautiful Tammy was our hostess, and Moncton man about wine Bill Vance led a tasting of wines from the portfolio of a reputable agency.
Five wines, blind. I am not sure how, especially after tasting I don't know how many wines the day before, but I managed to identify all of the five in terms of what they were, and where they were from (i.e. Napa Merlot).
Then it was supposed to be over. Rouge was closed on Mondays after all, only open for the special occasion. But it went on. The bar shut down, we stayed. It is all a mess after that.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
2007 - A Wine Odyssey
Once again this year, I was privileged to be one of the invited judges for the World Wine Expo that happens every year in November in Moncton. The wines are submitted by agencies in plenty of time to be judged, medals awarded, and the extra wines ordered for the show to meet the extra demand for those wines created by their winning medals.
Unlike the Nova Scotia "medals" these ones are actually earned in a publically judged, unbiased, blind competition.
There were three judges from Nova Scotia, and the remaining 5 from New Brunswick.
In order to do this work, and trust me, it is work, I have to do something I am not good at. That is, spitting, or as I see it, not drinking, wine that I have put the effort into getting into my mouth. My spitting, unlike some experts, tends to create a partial drool down my chin that I am constantly wiping off, resulting in a slightly darker part of my face from mouth to chin after a while. With red wines, anyway.
I got to judge with a famous NB wine personality - the guy whose picture is on the shelves in the ANBL stores recommending certain wines, with food matches. This competition, again, unlike the Nova Scotia medal designation process, is not run by the government monopoly. Unlike comparably backward Nova Scotia, the ANBL recognizes that the public sector might have some knowledge of wine, and cooperates very effectively with the Canadian Association of Professional Sommeliers. In fact, the two people in the New Brunswick organization who choose wines to list are both CAPS members, fully certified sommeliers, and good ones at that.
After the hard work (I judged and scored 83 wines over 4 hours, I think), we got to see the wines we had scored (medal categories will be done statistically) and we were happy with how we had done, in terms of matching our preferences with published reviews in other places, and general reputations of some of the entrants.
We then sat down to a very good meal of soup, steak and baked potato, from Bruno's, the in-house restaurant at the Fredericton Delta. The soup was great, a creamy buttery mushroom soup capped with a baked on top pasty crust.
Then we drank as many of the wines as we could (you can only pretend to be a sedate, stately judge type for so long, eh?). There were 149 of them and that represented a lot of work! I stopped sometime around 4 am. After all, I had to get up and drive to Moncton in the morning, to do some work during the day, and to attend another wine event there that evening.
There were some good ones left to drink, and the organizer, strategically, allowed us to drink them all, thus conveniently forgetting which wines will probably get gold medals, and keeping them secret for the media launch. But if you are a wine geek, you can make some guesses from what I have written.
Unlike the Nova Scotia "medals" these ones are actually earned in a publically judged, unbiased, blind competition.
There were three judges from Nova Scotia, and the remaining 5 from New Brunswick.
In order to do this work, and trust me, it is work, I have to do something I am not good at. That is, spitting, or as I see it, not drinking, wine that I have put the effort into getting into my mouth. My spitting, unlike some experts, tends to create a partial drool down my chin that I am constantly wiping off, resulting in a slightly darker part of my face from mouth to chin after a while. With red wines, anyway.
I got to judge with a famous NB wine personality - the guy whose picture is on the shelves in the ANBL stores recommending certain wines, with food matches. This competition, again, unlike the Nova Scotia medal designation process, is not run by the government monopoly. Unlike comparably backward Nova Scotia, the ANBL recognizes that the public sector might have some knowledge of wine, and cooperates very effectively with the Canadian Association of Professional Sommeliers. In fact, the two people in the New Brunswick organization who choose wines to list are both CAPS members, fully certified sommeliers, and good ones at that.
After the hard work (I judged and scored 83 wines over 4 hours, I think), we got to see the wines we had scored (medal categories will be done statistically) and we were happy with how we had done, in terms of matching our preferences with published reviews in other places, and general reputations of some of the entrants.
We then sat down to a very good meal of soup, steak and baked potato, from Bruno's, the in-house restaurant at the Fredericton Delta. The soup was great, a creamy buttery mushroom soup capped with a baked on top pasty crust.
Then we drank as many of the wines as we could (you can only pretend to be a sedate, stately judge type for so long, eh?). There were 149 of them and that represented a lot of work! I stopped sometime around 4 am. After all, I had to get up and drive to Moncton in the morning, to do some work during the day, and to attend another wine event there that evening.
There were some good ones left to drink, and the organizer, strategically, allowed us to drink them all, thus conveniently forgetting which wines will probably get gold medals, and keeping them secret for the media launch. But if you are a wine geek, you can make some guesses from what I have written.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Pythagorean Perfection
I wonder how much research went into the naming of Seven Restaurant in Halifax. Apparently it is located on the site of Fire Station 7, but a more superstitious person, especially one of Greek origin, might be very pleased by its numerical significance.
Known as the "perfect number" to the Greeks, one wonders if the owners take comfort from this.
A planned group trip to Lunenburg was altered by the weather, and we ended up going to Seven instead (peoples gotta eat). Of course, this was a party made up mostly of employees of Seven, or past employees. But they were all interested in eating there, as the menu was only a day old, and most had not tried any of the new offerings.
For a first course, I ordered the Spinach Salad, which came with hazlenuts, crumbly goast cheese, and poached pear. I think it was poached in Sambuca, or Pernod, as there was a nice licorice character there.
Discussion was focussed on which of the steaks to order - now they are not new items to the menu - Seven's wood fired grill simply cooks great steak. On the advice of the lovely Tab, I order a rib eye - the same way she does - "chef's choice". I learn that this is the way to order fatty steaks in good restaurants, as the chef can match the cooking with the meat's character, so you get it as it best tastes.
In my case, that was about medium rare (I would normally order rare). It was huge, and I traded a chunk of it to my neighbour for some of his halibut. The steak was not super tender, but it was really tasty, an excellent source of protein for a growing boy! The black pepper they have is great stuff, earthy, and rich, with not too much heat. I had a lot of it on my steak. The course included some baby vegetables, and perogies stuffed with leeks and blue cheese. The perogies were extremely yummy.
The Halibut was the best I have ever tasted, though this is not saying a lot, because I almost never have it. Clean, flakey, and done the way I like fish done (just barely cooked).
Wine with the salad was the Spy Valley Riesling, which was excellent, both as a drink and with the salad. It had some serious petrol notes, in nose and taste, and some pear fruit in addition to the normal riesling grape tastes, and the typical linear acidity. One of the smelly-eye-eh types at the table selected the Stump Jump Red (d'Arenberg) to go with the main course. It showed remarkably well.
One thing I was not quite sure about. It turned out that the young lady sitting across from me, who was not really taking part in the conversation until I kinda drew her out, was the girl friend of one of the servers, actually the manager. When he poured me wine, topping me up, he tended to tap me on the shoulder on the side he was coming in on. And not exactly lightly. I don't recall that technique being used on me before. Then again, maybe he was just swatting me for chatting up his gal?
Dessert arrived - one large plate, with blobs of tasty treats arranged on it in Pythagorean perfection. These included four of those chinese type soup spoons with homemade ice cream on them. One of those was a sour cream ice cream. Now that may not sound promising, but that was the best "new to me" thing I have tasted in a long time. I could have eaten a quart (sorry, litre) of it in about 3 minutes, given the chance.
I got the chance to tell the chef later how much I liked the ice cream. Brad, his name is, I believe. Turns out he made it himself.
Dinner, including wine, tax and tip for one (I had more than two glasses) was about $100. The point of sale system they have is amazing. The server was able to split shared things any number of ways. For example, some of us split a bottle of still water, others, sparkling. My wine share was larger than my neighbour's because I drank more than he did - they can estimate a share on refill count, or whether you take the red or white or both, for example. The servers love it.
Oddly, we were seated with women all on one side, and men on the other side of the table. And although there were eight of us, on this night, the sum of two sides was a perfect Seven.
Known as the "perfect number" to the Greeks, one wonders if the owners take comfort from this.
A planned group trip to Lunenburg was altered by the weather, and we ended up going to Seven instead (peoples gotta eat). Of course, this was a party made up mostly of employees of Seven, or past employees. But they were all interested in eating there, as the menu was only a day old, and most had not tried any of the new offerings.
For a first course, I ordered the Spinach Salad, which came with hazlenuts, crumbly goast cheese, and poached pear. I think it was poached in Sambuca, or Pernod, as there was a nice licorice character there.
Discussion was focussed on which of the steaks to order - now they are not new items to the menu - Seven's wood fired grill simply cooks great steak. On the advice of the lovely Tab, I order a rib eye - the same way she does - "chef's choice". I learn that this is the way to order fatty steaks in good restaurants, as the chef can match the cooking with the meat's character, so you get it as it best tastes.
In my case, that was about medium rare (I would normally order rare). It was huge, and I traded a chunk of it to my neighbour for some of his halibut. The steak was not super tender, but it was really tasty, an excellent source of protein for a growing boy! The black pepper they have is great stuff, earthy, and rich, with not too much heat. I had a lot of it on my steak. The course included some baby vegetables, and perogies stuffed with leeks and blue cheese. The perogies were extremely yummy.
The Halibut was the best I have ever tasted, though this is not saying a lot, because I almost never have it. Clean, flakey, and done the way I like fish done (just barely cooked).
Wine with the salad was the Spy Valley Riesling, which was excellent, both as a drink and with the salad. It had some serious petrol notes, in nose and taste, and some pear fruit in addition to the normal riesling grape tastes, and the typical linear acidity. One of the smelly-eye-eh types at the table selected the Stump Jump Red (d'Arenberg) to go with the main course. It showed remarkably well.
One thing I was not quite sure about. It turned out that the young lady sitting across from me, who was not really taking part in the conversation until I kinda drew her out, was the girl friend of one of the servers, actually the manager. When he poured me wine, topping me up, he tended to tap me on the shoulder on the side he was coming in on. And not exactly lightly. I don't recall that technique being used on me before. Then again, maybe he was just swatting me for chatting up his gal?
Dessert arrived - one large plate, with blobs of tasty treats arranged on it in Pythagorean perfection. These included four of those chinese type soup spoons with homemade ice cream on them. One of those was a sour cream ice cream. Now that may not sound promising, but that was the best "new to me" thing I have tasted in a long time. I could have eaten a quart (sorry, litre) of it in about 3 minutes, given the chance.
I got the chance to tell the chef later how much I liked the ice cream. Brad, his name is, I believe. Turns out he made it himself.
Dinner, including wine, tax and tip for one (I had more than two glasses) was about $100. The point of sale system they have is amazing. The server was able to split shared things any number of ways. For example, some of us split a bottle of still water, others, sparkling. My wine share was larger than my neighbour's because I drank more than he did - they can estimate a share on refill count, or whether you take the red or white or both, for example. The servers love it.
Oddly, we were seated with women all on one side, and men on the other side of the table. And although there were eight of us, on this night, the sum of two sides was a perfect Seven.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Home on the Grange
Wine buddy and former local star chick sommelier A was in town for a brief hello before heading back to winemaking school. We met down at Mosaic for a drink and some snacks, and I had invited some other wine geeks out to say hi, and imbibe.
Not many of them showed. You losers!
One who did show was the co-owner of the place, and A's former employer.
As the party grew in number, we pretty well tasted everything on their tapas style menu. Highlights included the Chevre/Asparagus/Beet salad, the Pork Belly, Steak (from PEI, apparently), Lamb Riblets, Duck with Mushroom Spring Roll, and Tuna Sushimi, but it really was all very good. The shellfish things looked good too. They disappeared pretty fast.
Then up to Seven afterward and, in honour of her visit, the co-owner allowed A to raid the cellar. This resulted in an open bottle of 93 Grange. This wine is $800 a bottle on the list there, and I got an entire glass, so I took my time with it. I think I nursed it for about two hours. The wine was very tight at first, and although the cork was near the end of its life (nearly penetrated to the top on one side) the wine was young, with a lot of primary fruit and good tannins remaining. It probably had 10 more years left on it, if the cork could hang in. In time it opened up, and displayed incredibly deep spicy Shiraz aroma, and a very classy palate that could have been fine French wine.
A local Coca Cola rep was with us, and he started buying weird shooter type things with energy beverages and girlie liqueurs... tasting them between the Grange.... well that was a bit surreal. I examined a 6 oz can of something called Tab. The amount of legalese disclaimer type lingo on it was amazing. It's a wonder I am still alive. Perhaps they now own something of mine and I just don't know it yet.
But back to the wine. Drinking the Grange called to mind a story that Australian winery owner Alan Heath told me about the blocks of vines from whence come the grapes for this wine, and that his block of 100 year old vines had been used on occasion as a source. I looked up over my glass rim, and there, in front of me, was Alan. Displaying his usual larger than life grin, he was offering his hand "How are ya mate!". I was a bit startled at my almost having summoned him to the bar from the other side of the planet, and took more time than I should have before acknowledging the presence of another A lady, right beside me. I shared tiny bits of the wine with them, Alan guessing it to be a Penfolds RWT or something, and A pronouncing it "yummy", as is her wont.
I thanked our host, paid my regards to A who had suddenly taken up smoking, and left, practically sober, at 1 am. Women (customers) were up dancing on the bar. Who would have thought, Thursday night at Seven - dancing girls! Free!
A was having a great time on her visit back to Halifax, thanks mostly to C. In fact, I am sure I saw her up on the bar for a few seconds.
Not many of them showed. You losers!
One who did show was the co-owner of the place, and A's former employer.
As the party grew in number, we pretty well tasted everything on their tapas style menu. Highlights included the Chevre/Asparagus/Beet salad, the Pork Belly, Steak (from PEI, apparently), Lamb Riblets, Duck with Mushroom Spring Roll, and Tuna Sushimi, but it really was all very good. The shellfish things looked good too. They disappeared pretty fast.
Then up to Seven afterward and, in honour of her visit, the co-owner allowed A to raid the cellar. This resulted in an open bottle of 93 Grange. This wine is $800 a bottle on the list there, and I got an entire glass, so I took my time with it. I think I nursed it for about two hours. The wine was very tight at first, and although the cork was near the end of its life (nearly penetrated to the top on one side) the wine was young, with a lot of primary fruit and good tannins remaining. It probably had 10 more years left on it, if the cork could hang in. In time it opened up, and displayed incredibly deep spicy Shiraz aroma, and a very classy palate that could have been fine French wine.
A local Coca Cola rep was with us, and he started buying weird shooter type things with energy beverages and girlie liqueurs... tasting them between the Grange.... well that was a bit surreal. I examined a 6 oz can of something called Tab. The amount of legalese disclaimer type lingo on it was amazing. It's a wonder I am still alive. Perhaps they now own something of mine and I just don't know it yet.
But back to the wine. Drinking the Grange called to mind a story that Australian winery owner Alan Heath told me about the blocks of vines from whence come the grapes for this wine, and that his block of 100 year old vines had been used on occasion as a source. I looked up over my glass rim, and there, in front of me, was Alan. Displaying his usual larger than life grin, he was offering his hand "How are ya mate!". I was a bit startled at my almost having summoned him to the bar from the other side of the planet, and took more time than I should have before acknowledging the presence of another A lady, right beside me. I shared tiny bits of the wine with them, Alan guessing it to be a Penfolds RWT or something, and A pronouncing it "yummy", as is her wont.
I thanked our host, paid my regards to A who had suddenly taken up smoking, and left, practically sober, at 1 am. Women (customers) were up dancing on the bar. Who would have thought, Thursday night at Seven - dancing girls! Free!
A was having a great time on her visit back to Halifax, thanks mostly to C. In fact, I am sure I saw her up on the bar for a few seconds.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
More March Madness
This post may be a bit wine-geek oriented, but I can't help to point out yet another illogical move on the part of our beloved NSLC. I downloaded and read their marketing plan and focus for the wine category. You know, I could swear I recall reading that Argentina was to be a country of origin that was to be featured this year.
Now, when anyone who knows wine considers Argentina, one of, if not the first name that stands out is Catena Zapata. Nicolas Catena, and his daughter Laura, make the best wines at just about every price point, and style in the country. That's not me talking, that's pretty well a summary of the international wine press. Yes, there are others, but there is no argument as to the Catenas' position. First rate on quality and on value.
So I find out recently that our beloved NSLC turned down the Catena Zapata line of product when it was offered to them. This can only represent one of three things.
1. Ignorance of their own strategy (so why have one?);
2. Incompetence in the assessment of the category;
3. Indications of the presence of some form of industry kickback, or extortion the agency/company was unable, or unwilling to pay; or
4. A combination of the above.
For the non wine crowd, this would be like saying you are going out to buy pizza, and driving past the best joints in town to get a Pizza Joe Delight special. The Argentinian wines available here are, for the most part, from the big government run conglomerate called Penaflor (Trapiche), which is like PetroCanada for wine in Argentina. They have lots of cash to buy shelf space at our Shoppers Drug Mart style Liquor Corp. And pay for trips for the non wine expert CAO to travel the world. The independent producers get squeezed out.
Now, when anyone who knows wine considers Argentina, one of, if not the first name that stands out is Catena Zapata. Nicolas Catena, and his daughter Laura, make the best wines at just about every price point, and style in the country. That's not me talking, that's pretty well a summary of the international wine press. Yes, there are others, but there is no argument as to the Catenas' position. First rate on quality and on value.
So I find out recently that our beloved NSLC turned down the Catena Zapata line of product when it was offered to them. This can only represent one of three things.
1. Ignorance of their own strategy (so why have one?);
2. Incompetence in the assessment of the category;
3. Indications of the presence of some form of industry kickback, or extortion the agency/company was unable, or unwilling to pay; or
4. A combination of the above.
For the non wine crowd, this would be like saying you are going out to buy pizza, and driving past the best joints in town to get a Pizza Joe Delight special. The Argentinian wines available here are, for the most part, from the big government run conglomerate called Penaflor (Trapiche), which is like PetroCanada for wine in Argentina. They have lots of cash to buy shelf space at our Shoppers Drug Mart style Liquor Corp. And pay for trips for the non wine expert CAO to travel the world. The independent producers get squeezed out.
Getting her Goat
Lunch at Rani's Curry & Roti Stop on Green Street, I order the Jerk Beef and Roti but no beef today - not that the chicken is so bad. L orders curried goat with a rice and beans dish on the side, and some fried plantain for dessert.
My roti arrives without rice, but L has far to much for just her (that's my story) and I steal some. The side of hot sauce is the real deal - dip a fork in it and use the residual on the tines, that will be enough to start. The food is delicious, and a banana flavoured Snapple, and some Mango juice (bottled in the UAE??) make fine accompaniment.
L enjoys her lunch, and I paid, so I guess I did get her goat!
My roti arrives without rice, but L has far to much for just her (that's my story) and I steal some. The side of hot sauce is the real deal - dip a fork in it and use the residual on the tines, that will be enough to start. The food is delicious, and a banana flavoured Snapple, and some Mango juice (bottled in the UAE??) make fine accompaniment.
L enjoys her lunch, and I paid, so I guess I did get her goat!
Monday, March 12, 2007
When the world arrives....
When the word arrives at your door, what do you do?
I started writing this blog for myself and some friends who tend to rely on me for wine and food recommendations.
But now, "other" people are reading it.
I installed Google's Analytics package and it tells me how many, and roughly where they are.
It is more than I suspected.
I can take it quiet, take the blog off "public", so you have to know the address to go to it, or I can leave it as is.
Now this is not that anonymous - anyone who can use Google can figure out who I am pretty quickly. Someone who can use Google and knows the ways of the net can figure out just about any handle. But the idea of taking a semi private thing, and acknowledging it as public, is a big step.
I am going to think about it.
What do you think? There is a way to comment below.
I started writing this blog for myself and some friends who tend to rely on me for wine and food recommendations.
But now, "other" people are reading it.
I installed Google's Analytics package and it tells me how many, and roughly where they are.
It is more than I suspected.
I can take it quiet, take the blog off "public", so you have to know the address to go to it, or I can leave it as is.
Now this is not that anonymous - anyone who can use Google can figure out who I am pretty quickly. Someone who can use Google and knows the ways of the net can figure out just about any handle. But the idea of taking a semi private thing, and acknowledging it as public, is a big step.
I am going to think about it.
What do you think? There is a way to comment below.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Road Trip - Fishless Fish Cakes, and Glenfiddich forced down our throats...
I manage to weasel a free spot on a Valley Wine Tours van trip to "A Wee Dram" a Glenfiddich marketing event in Pictou NS, the place from whence many Scots once fled to New Zealand many years ago.
After failing miserably to identify many of the scents from the scent kit game they play on the Valley Wine Tours trips, I am in a mood to eat lunch when we arrive, around 1:00 PM.
A new place beckons with a street board sign - The Old Post Office Pub. OK, let's do this. Down the granite stairs into the basement and what sure looks like it was a Post Office (it was). Beautiful restored stonework, although blighted by our modern fixation with fire suppression and the obligatory sprinkler lines, the place looks new. It turns out to have been open only a month.
My spirit is lifted on seeing three draft taps, two with no tap handle, but one remaining showing Granite Ringwood Ale! But alas, they have no draft beer left (they really are new to the business) and have violated the ancient code of never leaving a handle on a tap that cannot offer beer. Needless to say, I am bummed.
We are seated together in what looks to have been a vault at one time, but now has a gas fireplace, and is very well appointed. I am expecting a full suit of armour to appear in the corner, and talk at the table is of secret passageways.
I order a glass of Jost Eagle Tree, and later change it to Acadie Chardonnay and the ET only has one glass left in it. But they get points for serving local wines, and all by the glass. Unfortunately, my wine arrives in a state that shows it to have been opened for some time. I should have sent it back, but they were trying so hard....
Food around the table (we are 8) includes Guinness Pie, Fish Cakes, Veggie Curry, and Onion Soup and Chowder. The consensus of that it is quite good. Our fish cakes are nice, but neither of us can find very much fish in there. More like potato cakes with a hint of fish. Oh, the carrots served as a side vegetable were awesome, I think maybe stir fried in honey?
I think this place has a chance to become one of Nova Scotia's great pubs, but they need to have someone who understands pubs help with glassware selection (cut crystal in a pub?), pour size (they were overserving the wine, which we can't complain about, but won't help them in the long run) and keeping beer in stock.
The washrooms were amazing - like those at Seven, or Il Mercato in Halifax, with real individual hand towels like in hotel washrooms. Nice, but perhaps out of place in a pub. This was not fine dining at all, good pub food, so they need to focus on being a great pub. That does not come from great glassware or hand towels -it comes from atmosphere, which they have a start on, great beer, which they seem to know is important, but you have to have it to sell it; and patrons - who will come if you provide the first two.
Then, across the street at the DeCoste Centre....
We are in town to attend "A Wee Dram", an event put on by the DeCoste performance centre as a fundraiser, with Peter Mielzenski Agencies, the Agent for Glenfiddich in Atlantic Canada, bringing in Ian Miller, Chief Brand Ambassador of the Glenfiddich distillery in Scotland.
The event was billed as a talk about Scotch whisky, the latest trends and the proper nosing and tasting techniques, but it really was a very well planned, and practiced marketing presentation for Glenfiddich, as they apparently pursue a strategy to up-sell their single malt line. This is similar to the current marketing strategy under way at our own beloved NSLC, which I cynically (me, a cynic?) describe as trying to get all the guys I grew up with to acquire my drinking tastes. That is, in this case, the aim was to get people who currently buy the basic Glenfiddich, or cheaper blends, to choose the more expensive (and superior) 15 Year Old Solera product from this distillery giant.
Miller reviewed an impressive 30 years’ experience in Scotch whisky, at almost all arts of the whisky making process, including time spent at Bladnoch, Mortlach, Blair Athol, Dalwhinnie, Linkwood and Glen Elgin Distilleries in Scotland before joining William Grant & Sons/Glenfiddisch/Balvenie/Kinnivie, as well as a stint in Holland with brewing giant Heineken.
The man clearly knew his stuff, and just as clearly knew the program he was assigned to promote. His presentation could be "distilled" as:
1. Single Malts are the best distilled product.
2. The 15 year old Solera Glenfiddich is the one to buy.
3. Scotch is for drinking, not keeping.
4. He is always right.
I thought he was also expert at skirting a question that might make it look as though Grant's made blends, or that a blend was worth buying, that there were independent bottlers, that unfiltered whisky might be better than chill filtered, and that Nova Scotia's Glen Breton Canadian Malt Whisky was any better than Chinese rice liquor used to counterfeit Johnny Walker.
On the last, as long as we have to continue sending gaelic teachers, stepdance teachers, and fiddle teachers back to Scotland to help them relearn their lost culture, they can go to hell about thinking that the Scots, who had to leave Scotland, are less entitled to call a valley a Glen, a stream a Burn, or name their product after a place name or word in common use in their culture.
Heck the lead singer of the biggest Scottish rock band (Runrig) is none other than Cape Breton's own king of self love, Bruce Gouthro.
But he was funny at times, and did bring some 30 year old stuff for us to taste, so we'll let him live.
After failing miserably to identify many of the scents from the scent kit game they play on the Valley Wine Tours trips, I am in a mood to eat lunch when we arrive, around 1:00 PM.
A new place beckons with a street board sign - The Old Post Office Pub. OK, let's do this. Down the granite stairs into the basement and what sure looks like it was a Post Office (it was). Beautiful restored stonework, although blighted by our modern fixation with fire suppression and the obligatory sprinkler lines, the place looks new. It turns out to have been open only a month.
My spirit is lifted on seeing three draft taps, two with no tap handle, but one remaining showing Granite Ringwood Ale! But alas, they have no draft beer left (they really are new to the business) and have violated the ancient code of never leaving a handle on a tap that cannot offer beer. Needless to say, I am bummed.
We are seated together in what looks to have been a vault at one time, but now has a gas fireplace, and is very well appointed. I am expecting a full suit of armour to appear in the corner, and talk at the table is of secret passageways.
I order a glass of Jost Eagle Tree, and later change it to Acadie Chardonnay and the ET only has one glass left in it. But they get points for serving local wines, and all by the glass. Unfortunately, my wine arrives in a state that shows it to have been opened for some time. I should have sent it back, but they were trying so hard....
Food around the table (we are 8) includes Guinness Pie, Fish Cakes, Veggie Curry, and Onion Soup and Chowder. The consensus of that it is quite good. Our fish cakes are nice, but neither of us can find very much fish in there. More like potato cakes with a hint of fish. Oh, the carrots served as a side vegetable were awesome, I think maybe stir fried in honey?
I think this place has a chance to become one of Nova Scotia's great pubs, but they need to have someone who understands pubs help with glassware selection (cut crystal in a pub?), pour size (they were overserving the wine, which we can't complain about, but won't help them in the long run) and keeping beer in stock.
The washrooms were amazing - like those at Seven, or Il Mercato in Halifax, with real individual hand towels like in hotel washrooms. Nice, but perhaps out of place in a pub. This was not fine dining at all, good pub food, so they need to focus on being a great pub. That does not come from great glassware or hand towels -it comes from atmosphere, which they have a start on, great beer, which they seem to know is important, but you have to have it to sell it; and patrons - who will come if you provide the first two.
Then, across the street at the DeCoste Centre....
We are in town to attend "A Wee Dram", an event put on by the DeCoste performance centre as a fundraiser, with Peter Mielzenski Agencies, the Agent for Glenfiddich in Atlantic Canada, bringing in Ian Miller, Chief Brand Ambassador of the Glenfiddich distillery in Scotland.
The event was billed as a talk about Scotch whisky, the latest trends and the proper nosing and tasting techniques, but it really was a very well planned, and practiced marketing presentation for Glenfiddich, as they apparently pursue a strategy to up-sell their single malt line. This is similar to the current marketing strategy under way at our own beloved NSLC, which I cynically (me, a cynic?) describe as trying to get all the guys I grew up with to acquire my drinking tastes. That is, in this case, the aim was to get people who currently buy the basic Glenfiddich, or cheaper blends, to choose the more expensive (and superior) 15 Year Old Solera product from this distillery giant.
Miller reviewed an impressive 30 years’ experience in Scotch whisky, at almost all arts of the whisky making process, including time spent at Bladnoch, Mortlach, Blair Athol, Dalwhinnie, Linkwood and Glen Elgin Distilleries in Scotland before joining William Grant & Sons/Glenfiddisch/Balvenie/Kinnivie, as well as a stint in Holland with brewing giant Heineken.
The man clearly knew his stuff, and just as clearly knew the program he was assigned to promote. His presentation could be "distilled" as:
1. Single Malts are the best distilled product.
2. The 15 year old Solera Glenfiddich is the one to buy.
3. Scotch is for drinking, not keeping.
4. He is always right.
I thought he was also expert at skirting a question that might make it look as though Grant's made blends, or that a blend was worth buying, that there were independent bottlers, that unfiltered whisky might be better than chill filtered, and that Nova Scotia's Glen Breton Canadian Malt Whisky was any better than Chinese rice liquor used to counterfeit Johnny Walker.
On the last, as long as we have to continue sending gaelic teachers, stepdance teachers, and fiddle teachers back to Scotland to help them relearn their lost culture, they can go to hell about thinking that the Scots, who had to leave Scotland, are less entitled to call a valley a Glen, a stream a Burn, or name their product after a place name or word in common use in their culture.
Heck the lead singer of the biggest Scottish rock band (Runrig) is none other than Cape Breton's own king of self love, Bruce Gouthro.
But he was funny at times, and did bring some 30 year old stuff for us to taste, so we'll let him live.
Johnny's - The Breakfast
After our pleasant trip to Johnny's Snack Bar earlier in the week for supper, I propose a morning hike over to have breakfast.
A brisk morning walk is just the thing to revive the near dead, and as long as there is coffee waiting at the end, the 10 minute walk is great.
We get the booth by the window, and I make sure L gets the side with no-one behind her to jostle her with the shared seat back.
Coffee comes, served by what may be the son of the owners. He is great, on the ball, and definitely more awake than us.
I order a cheese omelet and ask for homefries, ready to pay the extra for them - "Oh, no," he says, "they come with the breakfasts!" Things are looking up. L orders sausage and eggs (what is up with the sausages, that's twice she has ordered them here?).
The food comes right away, in about 5 minutes. The home fries are fabulous. Real potato, hand cut into dollar size, or bigger, slices and fried dark golden brown. Cooked through, and hot. My omelet, almost predictably, uses processed cheese. This parallels my dinner experience, where I had from-scratch fried chicken, but was served frozen french fries. It is like they do some things the old way, but some of the newer, less authentic foods, and shortcuts are creeping into their menu. If there had been real cheddar in that omelet....
I steal one of L's sausages (hey, they served her, 6 or so)and I get a glimpse of why she ordered them again. They are browned and crispy on the outside, but normal sausage meat inside. It is a fine eating experience to bite through that crispy case into the tasty filing inside. The coffee is as good as diner coffee gets, and the refills keep coming. L's eggs are done as she asked, the toast is whole wheat, and the cost, well, less than $10 for the two of us. What more can you ask?
I just wish I had a camera to show you those home fries.
A brisk morning walk is just the thing to revive the near dead, and as long as there is coffee waiting at the end, the 10 minute walk is great.
We get the booth by the window, and I make sure L gets the side with no-one behind her to jostle her with the shared seat back.
Coffee comes, served by what may be the son of the owners. He is great, on the ball, and definitely more awake than us.
I order a cheese omelet and ask for homefries, ready to pay the extra for them - "Oh, no," he says, "they come with the breakfasts!" Things are looking up. L orders sausage and eggs (what is up with the sausages, that's twice she has ordered them here?).
The food comes right away, in about 5 minutes. The home fries are fabulous. Real potato, hand cut into dollar size, or bigger, slices and fried dark golden brown. Cooked through, and hot. My omelet, almost predictably, uses processed cheese. This parallels my dinner experience, where I had from-scratch fried chicken, but was served frozen french fries. It is like they do some things the old way, but some of the newer, less authentic foods, and shortcuts are creeping into their menu. If there had been real cheddar in that omelet....
I steal one of L's sausages (hey, they served her, 6 or so)and I get a glimpse of why she ordered them again. They are browned and crispy on the outside, but normal sausage meat inside. It is a fine eating experience to bite through that crispy case into the tasty filing inside. The coffee is as good as diner coffee gets, and the refills keep coming. L's eggs are done as she asked, the toast is whole wheat, and the cost, well, less than $10 for the two of us. What more can you ask?
I just wish I had a camera to show you those home fries.
Talay Ho!
Sipping IPA's after work, one of our regulars is bemoaning the horrible lunch she was forced to endure at an all-you-can-eat Pizza Delight buffet in Bridgewater that day. This really does call for a move to somewhere besides a pub, to make up for her earlier disappointment.
We barely squeeze into Talay Thai, on Barrington, just before a rush hits that fills the place up and into the street.
Our server is a guy, and I later find out that we hit the right spot, as well as the right time, as he seems to be the one there who can move the meals along at a pace faster than digestion.
We order a round of Propeller beers, some spring rolls, both kinds (fresh and cooked - or as we decided to call them, stale), plus an order of Thai Beef Salad. They arrive promptly, and are all really good. The Beef Salad is something I will go back for.
We each pick out a main course to share around. My choice is the Duck Curry, and others include Chicken Phad Thai, Thai Spiced Tilapia (fish), and the Beef Curry. Despite not being a big fish eater, I enjoy the Tilapia, though its baleful gaze is something I am more accustomed to seeing in the bottom of a boat. The heat level on everything seems about right - no one is breaking out in fits of persperation, or having premature hot flashes.
I love the duck curry, and am happy to have it, except that the very person who triggered our coming here will apparently not eat things that talked in childhood animal stories (except chickens, pigs, cows and fish). So she won't touch it, despite how yummy it is. I especially love how the grapes, cooked into the sauce, become these little curry bombs when you bite them.
The Phad Thai is OK, and, oddly, perhaps the weakest thing we have, compared to my past experience with this dish. Maybe I just needed more of it. The beef curry was excellent.
In the end, we leave, very happy, full, and with a bit of the glow from the spices and the company to take us home to our beds.
We barely squeeze into Talay Thai, on Barrington, just before a rush hits that fills the place up and into the street.
Our server is a guy, and I later find out that we hit the right spot, as well as the right time, as he seems to be the one there who can move the meals along at a pace faster than digestion.
We order a round of Propeller beers, some spring rolls, both kinds (fresh and cooked - or as we decided to call them, stale), plus an order of Thai Beef Salad. They arrive promptly, and are all really good. The Beef Salad is something I will go back for.
We each pick out a main course to share around. My choice is the Duck Curry, and others include Chicken Phad Thai, Thai Spiced Tilapia (fish), and the Beef Curry. Despite not being a big fish eater, I enjoy the Tilapia, though its baleful gaze is something I am more accustomed to seeing in the bottom of a boat. The heat level on everything seems about right - no one is breaking out in fits of persperation, or having premature hot flashes.
I love the duck curry, and am happy to have it, except that the very person who triggered our coming here will apparently not eat things that talked in childhood animal stories (except chickens, pigs, cows and fish). So she won't touch it, despite how yummy it is. I especially love how the grapes, cooked into the sauce, become these little curry bombs when you bite them.
The Phad Thai is OK, and, oddly, perhaps the weakest thing we have, compared to my past experience with this dish. Maybe I just needed more of it. The beef curry was excellent.
In the end, we leave, very happy, full, and with a bit of the glow from the spices and the company to take us home to our beds.
In this Corner....
Lunch at the Celtic Corner, on Alderney Drive in Darkmouth. Fish is good, reasonably freah, and the batter of the beer type. I am finding it hard to find bad fish and chips in town, which is a good thing. Still nothing to touch Phil's, for my tastes, though I appreciate Freddie's in the BLIP monstrosity and Wharf Wraps in Eastern Passage's disney-esque landscape for what they are - very good, just different.
The standard beer batter style found all around town is at many taverns, including the Midtown. Perhaps Fries and Co. does it best, though I have some sentimental attachment to Willman's (Kane and Isleville).
The Boxty was enjoyed by an eating companion on this day, and it looked great. I can recommend the Celtic Corner's food, this was my third good meal there,and they offer a very good beer selection as well.
The standard beer batter style found all around town is at many taverns, including the Midtown. Perhaps Fries and Co. does it best, though I have some sentimental attachment to Willman's (Kane and Isleville).
The Boxty was enjoyed by an eating companion on this day, and it looked great. I can recommend the Celtic Corner's food, this was my third good meal there,and they offer a very good beer selection as well.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Playing Games with the Common Wealth
Well, the whining has stopped, and the games are over for Halifax, it looks like.
One cannot help think that perhaps the Games Organizing Committee are all running around looking for another full expenses, untendered, competition free, cushy job to continue their explorations of the globe.
But I can't help but wonder what they were thinking, keeping money for a public project secret from that public for that long. This is Nova Scotia - it was a certainty that mistrust (usually warranted) of politicians and political processes that now exists here would bring them down.
I have some advice, albeit late, for the Committee. Bring in Mick Jagger. Yeah, the Rolling Stones guy. He seemed able to convince anyone in government that it was worthwhile to inconvenience, and endanger, lots of people, solely to put a paid entry event on public lands. That event took away public lands for what is now 6 months and counting. How much is that worth? And it was public land (much is still fenced in) that by law is owned by everyone in Nova Scotia, in common (hence the name) that HRM is obligated to manage for the good of the people, not for the good of their wet dreams, hoping for a chance to kiss Mick's butt, and boy did they ever suck up to him.
So I see that council now wants to look at more concerts on my land (and yours too). Right on wet grass, in the middle of the most populated area of the Province, right by our hospitals, schools, main traffic and Emergency Measures Organization routes, and seniors apartments.
This when we have places like the Atlantic Motorsport Park, the Atlantic Winter Fair Grounds, and the unused runways at Shearwater that could do just as well, or better.
Everyone says the last concert was a great success. No it wasn't - they got lucky. There was no riot, there was no major accident that required emergency access to the Hospital, and it rained like crazy, keeping people out of the place, such that the full capacity was not there, and the troublemakers were too wet and cold to make trouble.
I say, while we are pulling plugs on things, lets get this idiotic idea of mega rock concerts on our common land flushed to where the Games have gone.
One cannot help think that perhaps the Games Organizing Committee are all running around looking for another full expenses, untendered, competition free, cushy job to continue their explorations of the globe.
But I can't help but wonder what they were thinking, keeping money for a public project secret from that public for that long. This is Nova Scotia - it was a certainty that mistrust (usually warranted) of politicians and political processes that now exists here would bring them down.
I have some advice, albeit late, for the Committee. Bring in Mick Jagger. Yeah, the Rolling Stones guy. He seemed able to convince anyone in government that it was worthwhile to inconvenience, and endanger, lots of people, solely to put a paid entry event on public lands. That event took away public lands for what is now 6 months and counting. How much is that worth? And it was public land (much is still fenced in) that by law is owned by everyone in Nova Scotia, in common (hence the name) that HRM is obligated to manage for the good of the people, not for the good of their wet dreams, hoping for a chance to kiss Mick's butt, and boy did they ever suck up to him.
So I see that council now wants to look at more concerts on my land (and yours too). Right on wet grass, in the middle of the most populated area of the Province, right by our hospitals, schools, main traffic and Emergency Measures Organization routes, and seniors apartments.
This when we have places like the Atlantic Motorsport Park, the Atlantic Winter Fair Grounds, and the unused runways at Shearwater that could do just as well, or better.
Everyone says the last concert was a great success. No it wasn't - they got lucky. There was no riot, there was no major accident that required emergency access to the Hospital, and it rained like crazy, keeping people out of the place, such that the full capacity was not there, and the troublemakers were too wet and cold to make trouble.
I say, while we are pulling plugs on things, lets get this idiotic idea of mega rock concerts on our common land flushed to where the Games have gone.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Welcome to the Diner Zone
I had read on Chowhound that there was a quiet buzz about this Johnny's Snack Bar place on Almon Street. Googling it up, I find it is right around the corner from Vivo, which, if you have read earlier posts, you know I am not in love with. I cannot ever remember noticing this place.
So went there for supper there tonight. The first thing you see is signs telling you there is free parking for a Johnny's customer across the street in the Forum parking lot. Inside, Johnny's looks like any other old diner in the city. Sagging booths, round mushroom stools along a bar, and some tables with what I seem to recall were actually red and white chequered tablecloths, but don't take that as gospel, I may have hallucinated it.
The Menu was on the table. One per table. Specials handwritten on a small piece of paper proclaimed chopped beef and pan fried haddock as the specials. There were some older people, Greek, I think that is the language they were using, sitting chatting with the cook, who was standing over them.
The waitress, who is closing in on 60, was at our seat pretty quickly to see what we wanted to drink. Alas, the milkshake machine is broken, so my first choice is relegated to a later visit. But will there be another visit?
I decide to order what is, for me, THE TEST, when in a place like this. They have Fried Chicken on the menu. Normally, this ends up being a deep fried frozen very salty breaded product. One of those that looks like the batter was applied by an automobile undercoater. I figure that if I get real fried chicken, I have found a place to rely on. L orders the sausage dinner.
In a fairly short time, I have my answer. Three big pieces of fried chicken are lined up side by side on my plate separating my fries (unfortunately, these are of frozen origin) from what looks to be homemade coleslaw and some cranberry sauce. And they are real. Some of the chicken is missing bits of the very simple batter. It is not too salty. It is crunchy in some places and not in others. Gee whiz, Granny, that's fried chicken! Now before you get too excited, I think it had been perhaps baked or precooked a bit and then fried up for me, because some of it was a bit dry, but it was not some industrial food product.
The fries had probably seen the inside of the Florenceville Factory, but they were cooked about as good as frozen gets. The waitress casually tossed some Heinz Ketchup packs at my plate on her way by. I ate all the chicken, and half the fries, most of the cranberry and all the coleslaw.
L's sausages were very brown on the outside, but she said they were not overcooked, and were tasty (I never got to steal any...). Her mashed potato was very good, creamy and light.
Things had happened so fast (you haven't seen me around fried chicken before) that we had time for a dessert. Not wanting to completely ruin things, I had to ask what the "Cream Pie" on the menu meant. Seems it meant, at least for today, Coconut Cream. That falls into my list of 50 greatest weaknesses. So I order a piece. It was homemade, the crust being a bit like my Mom's, the filling not as rich as I am used to, but very coconutty, and the topping was a whipped cream, but I think from a can or container. I don't think it was synthetic, I am pretty sure it came from a cow.... The pie was very good. I'd have had more, but I let L eat along, which is a way to ensure you're not going to get as much as you thought you were.
So, yes, it's a diner. No pretensions whatsoever (unlike the place around the corner that I have given up on). I just can't believe I had never noticed it before. It is almost like one of those twilight zone things. read about it on the net, sure you never saw it before, and, there it is, a 5 minute walk from your house.
Oh, and the cost of the meal, that included a Coke, water, fried chicken platter, sausage dinner, and coconut cream pie, was $19.50 tax included, plus grat.
I plan to return, probably for breakfast. They do a good cheap B&E, and they have cinnamon toast!
So went there for supper there tonight. The first thing you see is signs telling you there is free parking for a Johnny's customer across the street in the Forum parking lot. Inside, Johnny's looks like any other old diner in the city. Sagging booths, round mushroom stools along a bar, and some tables with what I seem to recall were actually red and white chequered tablecloths, but don't take that as gospel, I may have hallucinated it.
The Menu was on the table. One per table. Specials handwritten on a small piece of paper proclaimed chopped beef and pan fried haddock as the specials. There were some older people, Greek, I think that is the language they were using, sitting chatting with the cook, who was standing over them.
The waitress, who is closing in on 60, was at our seat pretty quickly to see what we wanted to drink. Alas, the milkshake machine is broken, so my first choice is relegated to a later visit. But will there be another visit?
I decide to order what is, for me, THE TEST, when in a place like this. They have Fried Chicken on the menu. Normally, this ends up being a deep fried frozen very salty breaded product. One of those that looks like the batter was applied by an automobile undercoater. I figure that if I get real fried chicken, I have found a place to rely on. L orders the sausage dinner.
In a fairly short time, I have my answer. Three big pieces of fried chicken are lined up side by side on my plate separating my fries (unfortunately, these are of frozen origin) from what looks to be homemade coleslaw and some cranberry sauce. And they are real. Some of the chicken is missing bits of the very simple batter. It is not too salty. It is crunchy in some places and not in others. Gee whiz, Granny, that's fried chicken! Now before you get too excited, I think it had been perhaps baked or precooked a bit and then fried up for me, because some of it was a bit dry, but it was not some industrial food product.
The fries had probably seen the inside of the Florenceville Factory, but they were cooked about as good as frozen gets. The waitress casually tossed some Heinz Ketchup packs at my plate on her way by. I ate all the chicken, and half the fries, most of the cranberry and all the coleslaw.
L's sausages were very brown on the outside, but she said they were not overcooked, and were tasty (I never got to steal any...). Her mashed potato was very good, creamy and light.
Things had happened so fast (you haven't seen me around fried chicken before) that we had time for a dessert. Not wanting to completely ruin things, I had to ask what the "Cream Pie" on the menu meant. Seems it meant, at least for today, Coconut Cream. That falls into my list of 50 greatest weaknesses. So I order a piece. It was homemade, the crust being a bit like my Mom's, the filling not as rich as I am used to, but very coconutty, and the topping was a whipped cream, but I think from a can or container. I don't think it was synthetic, I am pretty sure it came from a cow.... The pie was very good. I'd have had more, but I let L eat along, which is a way to ensure you're not going to get as much as you thought you were.
So, yes, it's a diner. No pretensions whatsoever (unlike the place around the corner that I have given up on). I just can't believe I had never noticed it before. It is almost like one of those twilight zone things. read about it on the net, sure you never saw it before, and, there it is, a 5 minute walk from your house.
Oh, and the cost of the meal, that included a Coke, water, fried chicken platter, sausage dinner, and coconut cream pie, was $19.50 tax included, plus grat.
I plan to return, probably for breakfast. They do a good cheap B&E, and they have cinnamon toast!
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Mezza Mezzets
Dinner at a new place, with friends. L and I suggest Mezza, a new Lebanese/Mediterranean place on Quinpool near Oxford. A movie after dinner at the Oxford.
The place is very well appointed, in fact another couple we know, coming in as we were ready to leave, ask "what is this place doing on Quinpool?"
Making great food, is the answer.
It turned out that Ian and Pam are as adventurous as we are, so we almost had one of everything. The cold and hot Mezzet plates were all scrumptious, service was excellent, prompt, and where not totally informed, motivated to go to the chef and get the answer to a question.
My only beef is one I imagine they will soon fix. Like many startup places, they seem to have been "captured" by the Molson's money bag marketers, thus depriving their customers of good beer, for the most part. The final beer our server named, on being asked what there was, was Propeller Bitter, in bottles. They sold us a few. The rest was all Molcrap.
But the wines? Howdy, what's up with this? The wine list is excellent, and impressive with several Lebanese wines simply not available elsewhere in Atlantic Canada.
Not wanting to scare our friends, I order one I know, that is usually available. The Chateau Ksara Reserve Couvent impresses me again, with great fruit and tannin at a fair price.
One question answers the mystery, and once again, the legacy of Adam Dial and his sommelier training program enhances the Halifax dining experience. It seems George Kapetanakis, also owner of The Armview Restaurant, did, or helped with the list. George is currently awaiting the results of his final Canadian Association of Professional Sommeliers exam. I expect he will pass.
To be brief, we ate almost everything on the menu, in bits and bites. It was all good. Highlights for me included the Baba Ghanouj, the Bastorma, the Sambousik and the Chicken Kabob, plus the excellent thickened yoghurt we were served in place of tzaziki sauce.
I will be back. And with some wine geek friends to try some of the obscure Lebanese wines on the list.
The place is very well appointed, in fact another couple we know, coming in as we were ready to leave, ask "what is this place doing on Quinpool?"
Making great food, is the answer.
It turned out that Ian and Pam are as adventurous as we are, so we almost had one of everything. The cold and hot Mezzet plates were all scrumptious, service was excellent, prompt, and where not totally informed, motivated to go to the chef and get the answer to a question.
My only beef is one I imagine they will soon fix. Like many startup places, they seem to have been "captured" by the Molson's money bag marketers, thus depriving their customers of good beer, for the most part. The final beer our server named, on being asked what there was, was Propeller Bitter, in bottles. They sold us a few. The rest was all Molcrap.
But the wines? Howdy, what's up with this? The wine list is excellent, and impressive with several Lebanese wines simply not available elsewhere in Atlantic Canada.
Not wanting to scare our friends, I order one I know, that is usually available. The Chateau Ksara Reserve Couvent impresses me again, with great fruit and tannin at a fair price.
One question answers the mystery, and once again, the legacy of Adam Dial and his sommelier training program enhances the Halifax dining experience. It seems George Kapetanakis, also owner of The Armview Restaurant, did, or helped with the list. George is currently awaiting the results of his final Canadian Association of Professional Sommeliers exam. I expect he will pass.
To be brief, we ate almost everything on the menu, in bits and bites. It was all good. Highlights for me included the Baba Ghanouj, the Bastorma, the Sambousik and the Chicken Kabob, plus the excellent thickened yoghurt we were served in place of tzaziki sauce.
I will be back. And with some wine geek friends to try some of the obscure Lebanese wines on the list.
77 and Counting
OK, so you are not really supposed to state a woman's age, but my Mom turned 77 this week. As I was rushing out of the house to head downtown to a brief meeting, a lunch grab in the mall, followed by a long afternoon meeting, I realized, while putting on my shoes, that it was my Mom's 77th birthday.
I stood up from putting on my shoes, and the doorbell rang. It was Mom and Dad, in town for a medical appointment, wondering about parking in our driveway while they lunched at janes on the common to celebrate her good news checkup and her birthday.
This is where working for yourself really pays. You know what I did.
Yep, I blew off the early meeting and had lunch with them, and was able to buy, thus satiisfying any obligatory present stuff.
It was at this lunch that I had a mini epihany about janes, and why people like it so much. More later on that.
Mom had a cup of beet and apple soup, with some yougurt in the middle - beautiful to look at and she loved it. Dad had the chowder, which he said was excellent. I had the special, an open faced beef sandwich with cheese and carmelized jalapenos on top. The food was predictably great, and Mom decided she'd really celebrate and have dessert. I suggested that they split one, as the portions are large for her normal intake, and they ordered the warm gingerbread with rum/maple sauce. I decided to try the Belgian hot chocolate - I had never had that before.
The gingerbread had real candied ginger in it (Mom loved it), and my hot chocolate had marshmallow floating on top, but not just any marshmallow - it was made there - it was a cube, cut out of a pan of marshmallow. And here begins the epiphany. What jane has done, in a lot of the things on her menu, is take food we all know and remember fondly from our youth, and have them made the way they were originally conceived. No gingerbread mix, no institutionalized, industrialized shortcuts, just the real deal. If you look at her menu, especially, or particularly the dessert menu, this becomes quite clear. The main courses are often enhanced versions, perhaps, of the old favourites, but in general, that is the theme here. Real food done fresh, and not a lot of fakery.
Of course the other "secret" to jane's success is her attention to detail - the relishes, chutneys, garnishes and so on are all perfect and homemade. The interior design is thought out (Breakhouse Design) and the staff very well trained. All this care, but the place still projects a relaxed atmosphere. That is not an easy thing.
And maybe that is why it appeals to such a broad demographic. I can take my Mom and Dad here, or my most radical politically aligned friends. They are all human, and jane's works on a human scale.
I stood up from putting on my shoes, and the doorbell rang. It was Mom and Dad, in town for a medical appointment, wondering about parking in our driveway while they lunched at janes on the common to celebrate her good news checkup and her birthday.
This is where working for yourself really pays. You know what I did.
Yep, I blew off the early meeting and had lunch with them, and was able to buy, thus satiisfying any obligatory present stuff.
It was at this lunch that I had a mini epihany about janes, and why people like it so much. More later on that.
Mom had a cup of beet and apple soup, with some yougurt in the middle - beautiful to look at and she loved it. Dad had the chowder, which he said was excellent. I had the special, an open faced beef sandwich with cheese and carmelized jalapenos on top. The food was predictably great, and Mom decided she'd really celebrate and have dessert. I suggested that they split one, as the portions are large for her normal intake, and they ordered the warm gingerbread with rum/maple sauce. I decided to try the Belgian hot chocolate - I had never had that before.
The gingerbread had real candied ginger in it (Mom loved it), and my hot chocolate had marshmallow floating on top, but not just any marshmallow - it was made there - it was a cube, cut out of a pan of marshmallow. And here begins the epiphany. What jane has done, in a lot of the things on her menu, is take food we all know and remember fondly from our youth, and have them made the way they were originally conceived. No gingerbread mix, no institutionalized, industrialized shortcuts, just the real deal. If you look at her menu, especially, or particularly the dessert menu, this becomes quite clear. The main courses are often enhanced versions, perhaps, of the old favourites, but in general, that is the theme here. Real food done fresh, and not a lot of fakery.
Of course the other "secret" to jane's success is her attention to detail - the relishes, chutneys, garnishes and so on are all perfect and homemade. The interior design is thought out (Breakhouse Design) and the staff very well trained. All this care, but the place still projects a relaxed atmosphere. That is not an easy thing.
And maybe that is why it appeals to such a broad demographic. I can take my Mom and Dad here, or my most radical politically aligned friends. They are all human, and jane's works on a human scale.
More Monkeying Around
A recent lunch at the Wooden Monkey shows they are getting better. I think so anyway. The oven fries were less greasy, and my old fave, the Seitan Sandwich was yummy as usual, with the umani character of flavour growing as one eats, until, at the end, you are happy.
The Propeller Root Beer, on tap, was excellent, reminiscent of the old A&W drive in on the Bedford Highway we used to get to go to if we behaved in the car.
K, my "lunch date" had a veggie pizza which was very very tasty. She was about to take some away with her, but decided to eat it instead. The only knock was that it did take a while to get food on our plates (almost 40 mins from when we sat down).
The Propeller Root Beer, on tap, was excellent, reminiscent of the old A&W drive in on the Bedford Highway we used to get to go to if we behaved in the car.
K, my "lunch date" had a veggie pizza which was very very tasty. She was about to take some away with her, but decided to eat it instead. The only knock was that it did take a while to get food on our plates (almost 40 mins from when we sat down).
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Wine of the Week, February 23, 2007
Anakena Chardonnay Reserve, Chile, 2006 ($12.12)
I am on a bit of a Chardonnay revival of late, trying to find nice clean examples of the Queen of Grapes. After my Niagara trip, where I sampled a lot of Chardonnay, I had to admit that some are yummy, just not the overoaked monster things.
This wine sets out what it tries to do - it is a nice, clean, well made simple white wine. It has some pleasant tropical, peach and stone fruit aroma and some clean fresh varietal Chardonnay flavour (heavens, it tastes like the grape!).
Oak, used very sparingly, hardly makes itself known, but it is there in small background hints.
It reminded me of "off-Burgundy" Chardonnay I have had before (like Macon, or St. Veran), an idea that is later reinforced by a taster who does that stuff for a living.
So, don't be afraid, come back to the Chard, but don't waste your money on oak.
This wine can be consumed as a drink, preferrably sipping with friends on a deck, chilled to about 7 - 8 degrees C, or with light foods, and fish with some flavour, like trout.
And the price is right.
I am on a bit of a Chardonnay revival of late, trying to find nice clean examples of the Queen of Grapes. After my Niagara trip, where I sampled a lot of Chardonnay, I had to admit that some are yummy, just not the overoaked monster things.
This wine sets out what it tries to do - it is a nice, clean, well made simple white wine. It has some pleasant tropical, peach and stone fruit aroma and some clean fresh varietal Chardonnay flavour (heavens, it tastes like the grape!).
Oak, used very sparingly, hardly makes itself known, but it is there in small background hints.
It reminded me of "off-Burgundy" Chardonnay I have had before (like Macon, or St. Veran), an idea that is later reinforced by a taster who does that stuff for a living.
So, don't be afraid, come back to the Chard, but don't waste your money on oak.
This wine can be consumed as a drink, preferrably sipping with friends on a deck, chilled to about 7 - 8 degrees C, or with light foods, and fish with some flavour, like trout.
And the price is right.
Half the way to the pole, or the equator.....
The Restaurant Association of Nova Scotia has been running "Dine Out" a program of Prix Fixé menus at many places around town.
Research indicates that the best looking one for price and menu is at 44 North, the in house restaurant in the former Casino Nova Scotia Hotel, now the Halifax Harbourfront Marriott. A hotel restaurant! You say, how could I eat there?
Well, here is the menu.
To Start
Seared Atlantic Scallops with Wild Mushroom
Spinach & a Saffron Vanilla Sauce
Or
Quenelle of Truffled Brie & Caramelized Apples
Mains
Butter Poached Atlantic Lobster, Sautéed Foie Gras & Port Poached Figs, with Leek, Yukon Gold & Sweet Potato Pave
Or
Braised Northumberland Lamb Shanks with Truffled White Beans, Wild Mushroom & Red Wine Emulsion & Gremolata
Or
Pan Seared Halibut with Sea Salt Fingerling Potatoes, & Kumquat/ Cumin Buerre Blanc
Sweet Temptation
Warm Macadamia and Apple Streusel Cake with Blueberry & Lavender Syrup
One of each course for a fixed price of $37 per person.
So, on a Saturday night, we plan to go for 7:30 pm. A table for 6, please, K&J, and Bucky and his date, Ash. That makes for a tough wine crowd to please. A stop at my place for a shared bottle of Charles Ellner Brut Rosé Champagne (NV) and a few snackies, and we're off.
Now this is where my buddy K used to work, and he is still very well known (and apparently liked) by the remaining staff. I expect the level of service we'll get will exceed the norm.
We order a bottle of Lingenfelder Bird Label Riesling, the latest vintage with screwcaps (yeah, no corked wine!) and order up. A tray of nice bread arrives and we chew on it while deciding. Of course, being shellfish sensitive, I've no problem with my choices.
Chef Eric Rochefort (a Cordon Bleu trained Chef and also a Certified Sommelier) comes out, as do many of the staff, to see K, and explains that when he says "truffled" he means truffled. Not just truffle oil, but some real truffles are in the Brie "Quenelle" which is apparently a "stirred up with a spoon" type of thing.
My first course is the Brie. I have ordered a bottle of the Spy Valley Pinot Noir, anticipating that it will match both my courses, and that K will try some too (I am correct on both counts). It arrives, and to our surprise, is from the 2006 vintage! I wonder how they got it here that fast. In time, through the evening, it shows itself to be a wine to buy, and maybe wait a little bit on (screwcap too!).
The truffled brie is gooey, almost like an uncooked bread dough, and you have to cut little chunkies off the main part. Put one in your mouth with some of the diced carmelized apples and YUM, then add some Pinot Noir and the fun increases. I take about twice the time to eat my appetizer as the rest of them do to scarf down their scallops. I have them looking at me expectantly like the mollusk-eaters they are.
In time I finish, and this allows staff to serve the next course, a small amuse-bouche of vodka sorbet on some shredded cured vegetables, including a fantastic visual and taste effect from shredded fennel in strawberry juice.
The main course is coming! Now let's read the menu again. Truffled White Beans, Wild Mushroom & Red Wine Emulsion. That sounds to me almost like cassoulet. The next day, Eric is sitting with me at a wine class and he admits to working on the beans with that in mind, but as it was not a real cassoulet he would not call it by that name (I refer you to the language of cooking discussion earlier in my visit to janes on the common avec Chef Claude).
This dish is fantastic. I am pretty well engrossed in the great braised lamb flavours, and the slightly spicey, rich mushroomy sauce that I spoon beans into my mouth with. I play with different combos of meat, beans, sauce and veg. I dive in. I forget about my dining partners. The wine works well with it, though a South of France Corbieres or Minervois might be even better.
When I come out of my eating frenzy induced trance, with some still left to eat, I check my shirt to make sure I have not splattered food all over it (amazingly, no) and make some table patter, before diving back in to finish.
Well, that was quite nice, eh?
Everyone had enjoyed their food very much - the lobster had been partly dismembered and turned into some fancier cuisine, although the front parts were intact meat. L had the halibut, which she enjoyed. They were all enthusiastically dissecting the pave - a layered construction of leek, Yukon Gold potato, and sweet potato.
In a short while, dessert arrived, and I had some Pinot left to try with that - well, it had so much body and substance, and not too much sugar, that the red wine actually was good, and very interesting with it. I also tried a wee dram of someone's Dow's 20 yr old Tawny Port, as a cheese tray had suddenly appeared from nowhere.
The verdict? One of the best meals I've had this year, and like one of last year's great meals, in a hotel restaurant at that!
Research indicates that the best looking one for price and menu is at 44 North, the in house restaurant in the former Casino Nova Scotia Hotel, now the Halifax Harbourfront Marriott. A hotel restaurant! You say, how could I eat there?
Well, here is the menu.
To Start
Seared Atlantic Scallops with Wild Mushroom
Spinach & a Saffron Vanilla Sauce
Or
Quenelle of Truffled Brie & Caramelized Apples
Mains
Butter Poached Atlantic Lobster, Sautéed Foie Gras & Port Poached Figs, with Leek, Yukon Gold & Sweet Potato Pave
Or
Braised Northumberland Lamb Shanks with Truffled White Beans, Wild Mushroom & Red Wine Emulsion & Gremolata
Or
Pan Seared Halibut with Sea Salt Fingerling Potatoes, & Kumquat/ Cumin Buerre Blanc
Sweet Temptation
Warm Macadamia and Apple Streusel Cake with Blueberry & Lavender Syrup
One of each course for a fixed price of $37 per person.
So, on a Saturday night, we plan to go for 7:30 pm. A table for 6, please, K&J, and Bucky and his date, Ash. That makes for a tough wine crowd to please. A stop at my place for a shared bottle of Charles Ellner Brut Rosé Champagne (NV) and a few snackies, and we're off.
Now this is where my buddy K used to work, and he is still very well known (and apparently liked) by the remaining staff. I expect the level of service we'll get will exceed the norm.
We order a bottle of Lingenfelder Bird Label Riesling, the latest vintage with screwcaps (yeah, no corked wine!) and order up. A tray of nice bread arrives and we chew on it while deciding. Of course, being shellfish sensitive, I've no problem with my choices.
Chef Eric Rochefort (a Cordon Bleu trained Chef and also a Certified Sommelier) comes out, as do many of the staff, to see K, and explains that when he says "truffled" he means truffled. Not just truffle oil, but some real truffles are in the Brie "Quenelle" which is apparently a "stirred up with a spoon" type of thing.
My first course is the Brie. I have ordered a bottle of the Spy Valley Pinot Noir, anticipating that it will match both my courses, and that K will try some too (I am correct on both counts). It arrives, and to our surprise, is from the 2006 vintage! I wonder how they got it here that fast. In time, through the evening, it shows itself to be a wine to buy, and maybe wait a little bit on (screwcap too!).
The truffled brie is gooey, almost like an uncooked bread dough, and you have to cut little chunkies off the main part. Put one in your mouth with some of the diced carmelized apples and YUM, then add some Pinot Noir and the fun increases. I take about twice the time to eat my appetizer as the rest of them do to scarf down their scallops. I have them looking at me expectantly like the mollusk-eaters they are.
In time I finish, and this allows staff to serve the next course, a small amuse-bouche of vodka sorbet on some shredded cured vegetables, including a fantastic visual and taste effect from shredded fennel in strawberry juice.
The main course is coming! Now let's read the menu again. Truffled White Beans, Wild Mushroom & Red Wine Emulsion. That sounds to me almost like cassoulet. The next day, Eric is sitting with me at a wine class and he admits to working on the beans with that in mind, but as it was not a real cassoulet he would not call it by that name (I refer you to the language of cooking discussion earlier in my visit to janes on the common avec Chef Claude).
This dish is fantastic. I am pretty well engrossed in the great braised lamb flavours, and the slightly spicey, rich mushroomy sauce that I spoon beans into my mouth with. I play with different combos of meat, beans, sauce and veg. I dive in. I forget about my dining partners. The wine works well with it, though a South of France Corbieres or Minervois might be even better.
When I come out of my eating frenzy induced trance, with some still left to eat, I check my shirt to make sure I have not splattered food all over it (amazingly, no) and make some table patter, before diving back in to finish.
Well, that was quite nice, eh?
Everyone had enjoyed their food very much - the lobster had been partly dismembered and turned into some fancier cuisine, although the front parts were intact meat. L had the halibut, which she enjoyed. They were all enthusiastically dissecting the pave - a layered construction of leek, Yukon Gold potato, and sweet potato.
In a short while, dessert arrived, and I had some Pinot left to try with that - well, it had so much body and substance, and not too much sugar, that the red wine actually was good, and very interesting with it. I also tried a wee dram of someone's Dow's 20 yr old Tawny Port, as a cheese tray had suddenly appeared from nowhere.
The verdict? One of the best meals I've had this year, and like one of last year's great meals, in a hotel restaurant at that!
MicMac, Paddywhack, is it like the Midtown?
Lunch required fish and chips. Don't ask my why, sometimes it just happens. But I was in Dartmouth, far away from Phil's!
Now John's Lunch is a possibility, and there is the drive out to Eastern Passage for that great spot in the Fisherman's Village, but I wanted somewhere I hadn't been in a while.
And Peter did not seem as enthused about the fat intake from the "fish an'" as I was.
The Micmac Tavern and Grill came to mind - Dartmouth's Midtown.
On arriving I am greeted by Calvin Coolen, ex of the Midtown, and of my high school. Calvin is now big - as in muscles/bodybuilder big. He remembers my face, and the good news is that there are no bad memories associated with it.
A pint of Garrison Red (on tap - Micmac 1, Midtown 0)and a few minutes later, we are enjoying a good solid lunch. The server who does our food is full of suggestions, and alternatives - three types of potato, if you have the roasted potaties, there are three different spices they will do them in... almost too complicated for a tavern. At the Midtown, you get what you ask for, but you can sub any potato in and out of the plate. (Midtown 1, Micmac 1)
The fish and chips arrives along with the ribs for Peter. My fish (a 2 piece) is good, not mushy, not pure fresh, but no sign of formaldehyde or fishy-ness. The fries are excellent. Fish - about the same as the Midtown, actually. Fries - much much better, though the portion is so large I leave enough behind to feed the next guy. (Micmac 2, Midtown 1).
Peter's ribs must be good, becasuse I recall watching him sucking the last shreds off meat off the bones. His potato chunks have a curry spice covering that is a bit salty, but certainly not tavern-normal.
The entire menu is ambitious, with probably more on there than they need, and you can really pay quite a bit for a staeak here if you try. As we drive off, I decide that it is different from the Midtown, and though they have given away a bit of authenticity to the suburbs that have grown around them, the Micmac remains a great place to go for hearty, tasty tavern food. I'd just keep the orders plain and simple.
Though it is great to see a microbrew on tap. Maybe I can talk Eric into a tap - my advice on getting the Propeller in bottle seems to have worked for him...
Now John's Lunch is a possibility, and there is the drive out to Eastern Passage for that great spot in the Fisherman's Village, but I wanted somewhere I hadn't been in a while.
And Peter did not seem as enthused about the fat intake from the "fish an'" as I was.
The Micmac Tavern and Grill came to mind - Dartmouth's Midtown.
On arriving I am greeted by Calvin Coolen, ex of the Midtown, and of my high school. Calvin is now big - as in muscles/bodybuilder big. He remembers my face, and the good news is that there are no bad memories associated with it.
A pint of Garrison Red (on tap - Micmac 1, Midtown 0)and a few minutes later, we are enjoying a good solid lunch. The server who does our food is full of suggestions, and alternatives - three types of potato, if you have the roasted potaties, there are three different spices they will do them in... almost too complicated for a tavern. At the Midtown, you get what you ask for, but you can sub any potato in and out of the plate. (Midtown 1, Micmac 1)
The fish and chips arrives along with the ribs for Peter. My fish (a 2 piece) is good, not mushy, not pure fresh, but no sign of formaldehyde or fishy-ness. The fries are excellent. Fish - about the same as the Midtown, actually. Fries - much much better, though the portion is so large I leave enough behind to feed the next guy. (Micmac 2, Midtown 1).
Peter's ribs must be good, becasuse I recall watching him sucking the last shreds off meat off the bones. His potato chunks have a curry spice covering that is a bit salty, but certainly not tavern-normal.
The entire menu is ambitious, with probably more on there than they need, and you can really pay quite a bit for a staeak here if you try. As we drive off, I decide that it is different from the Midtown, and though they have given away a bit of authenticity to the suburbs that have grown around them, the Micmac remains a great place to go for hearty, tasty tavern food. I'd just keep the orders plain and simple.
Though it is great to see a microbrew on tap. Maybe I can talk Eric into a tap - my advice on getting the Propeller in bottle seems to have worked for him...
Monday, February 19, 2007
Shock the Monkey
Post ECMA's for me, pre award show for L, we walk over to The Wooden Monkey for a bite to eat. We had looked in at Little Fish, but it was closed, and the Monkey beckoned.
I love their Seitan Sandwich, to the point where it has been almost all I have ever had here. This trip will be different, I vow.
We started with the Japanese Soy Dumplings. These are very toasty dumplings, served in a hot sauce that is red pepper and hot pepper based, I am guessing. My Propeller Pale Ale is tasty and, BONUS - fresh local product.
L has the lemon haddock - baked haddock in a nice crusty covering, with the baked fries, and salad stuff. Her fish is really good, and manages to not taste overcooked, or mushy either. I have the Braised Beef Sandwich, which comes with a side cup of a dipping sauce/jus and ketchup, the baked fries, and salad stuff (no dressing, so I left it for the garnish it was). This was really really tasty - beefy good, especially after I dumped the dipping sauce on it. The dipping sauce helped with the oven fries, which we a bit on the dry side. (Maybe they read the Chowhound post by Jim Leff on their fries- why not just fry them if you use that much fat anyway - and are trying to limit the fat now?).
We still had time for dessert, though its arrival took an inordinate time. L had the pumpkin pie and I chose the soy silk chocolate pie. Her's tasted like real food, but the crust was more like some other type of pastry, not piecrust. Good, but sort of "trendyfood". My chocolate pie may have been from all natural ingredients, and maybe even good for me, but it still reminded me of something from the freezer section of the supermarket. One way to get good things into your kids, I guess.
Dinner for 2, ordering light, with a juice, one beer, desserts and grat was $74.
While we were eating, on person from a table of out of towners, in for the ECMA's, who had been taking cell phone calls all through their dinner, thanked the waitress for being able to eat out - she had food allergies and sensitivities and never got to eat out. I was wondering why she did not think to have her companions turn off their cellphones and let the rest of us enjoy our dinner too. I think I am developing sensitivities to cellphones in restaurants.
Such is the Wooden Monkey. Trying to do things right, despite its customers. Me included, having ignored the seitan for real beef. Oh well, it's my heart attack.
I love their Seitan Sandwich, to the point where it has been almost all I have ever had here. This trip will be different, I vow.
We started with the Japanese Soy Dumplings. These are very toasty dumplings, served in a hot sauce that is red pepper and hot pepper based, I am guessing. My Propeller Pale Ale is tasty and, BONUS - fresh local product.
L has the lemon haddock - baked haddock in a nice crusty covering, with the baked fries, and salad stuff. Her fish is really good, and manages to not taste overcooked, or mushy either. I have the Braised Beef Sandwich, which comes with a side cup of a dipping sauce/jus and ketchup, the baked fries, and salad stuff (no dressing, so I left it for the garnish it was). This was really really tasty - beefy good, especially after I dumped the dipping sauce on it. The dipping sauce helped with the oven fries, which we a bit on the dry side. (Maybe they read the Chowhound post by Jim Leff on their fries- why not just fry them if you use that much fat anyway - and are trying to limit the fat now?).
We still had time for dessert, though its arrival took an inordinate time. L had the pumpkin pie and I chose the soy silk chocolate pie. Her's tasted like real food, but the crust was more like some other type of pastry, not piecrust. Good, but sort of "trendyfood". My chocolate pie may have been from all natural ingredients, and maybe even good for me, but it still reminded me of something from the freezer section of the supermarket. One way to get good things into your kids, I guess.
Dinner for 2, ordering light, with a juice, one beer, desserts and grat was $74.
While we were eating, on person from a table of out of towners, in for the ECMA's, who had been taking cell phone calls all through their dinner, thanked the waitress for being able to eat out - she had food allergies and sensitivities and never got to eat out. I was wondering why she did not think to have her companions turn off their cellphones and let the rest of us enjoy our dinner too. I think I am developing sensitivities to cellphones in restaurants.
Such is the Wooden Monkey. Trying to do things right, despite its customers. Me included, having ignored the seitan for real beef. Oh well, it's my heart attack.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
The ECMA Report, or how we have lost our "Maritimerness"
Disclaimer: This report may seem somewhat bitchy, because I really did have a great time this year. But what with everyone over-enthusing, and all the gushing, often undeserved compliments in the pro media, I figured I'd argue for the other team - the realists.
Every year, one of the cities, or as some should be called, somewhat large towns, across the Maritimes and Newfoundland hosts the East Coast Music Awards. The main set of awards are usually about as pathetic as the Grammies, with no one who did anything that year of substance ever winning anything, and people being rewarded for sticking to it, or staying home, and punished for going down the road where real opportunties lie (except Gordie Sampson, who is soon to be promoted to Cape Breton deity alongside Allan J. MacEachen and Billy Joe). I mean, has the best band ever from here (Sloan) ever won an ECMA? (oops, guess what, they won something this year!)
What the ECMA's do is bring some focus to local music in the centres thoughout the Maritimes and Newfoundland at a time of year when the successful musicians (those working) are likely to be on cruise ships, at resorts, or at festivals in Australia. Of course this is still a good thing, as one thing I know, our musicians are just as good as anyone else's. Which is of course, by definition, average. That is what I was thinking when some mouthpiece at a showcase blurted out that we just want to show the rest of the world that our musicians are as good as any where else. I frickin' hope so, buddy!
What can make a difference is the vitality of a music scene and local industry that is vital enough to attract talent from other, less vital places. In Halifax, that means, um, well, it mostly means the other places that sometimes host the ECMA's. So when the ECMA's come to the city of Halifax, a lot of people from the other places come here to see how their exports are doing. They are called delegates, and are often getting a free ride paid for by a government organization like "Music NL", as one example. They have big parties and get drunk on their taxpayers' tabs, or on the fees their membership pays. At least as far as I can see, that's what they do.
Now we in Halifax cannot be considered as so sophisticated that we have outgrown our rabidly anxious need to receive adoration, or even a bit of credit for competence from other places, so we do what we can to bring people here to show them how good we are at making music. In fact, this desire for acceptance seems to be one of the underpinnings of the ECMA's - it tends to become a "look at me! See, I can do that too!" type of thing, as we strive to show the rest of Canada what we got, eh?
But I digress. The best part of the ECMA's, arguably, is not the awards show (is it ever the awards show?) but the general level of increased live music activity in the city. And for this, I very much appreciate the fact that the gathering happens. It gets me out to see local bands I might have missed... no, would have missed. Following is a bit of a travelogue of our adventures (I was in the tow of a media type who was covering the thing for an out of Province publication).
Thursday
Out to Gingers for a quick snack - beef stew, hot enough to stay safe to eat, tasty and cheap. The pints of bitter were dead on, as good as Ginger's Best ever is, both the regular and dry hopped version. We have a bit of a Juno nightmare recap with Joe Keefe, enjoying once again the famous story about the biting incident in the lineup for Jully Black.
Then it's down to Tribeca, where we arrive in time to get a seat at a table before the main crowd arrives. This seems too good to be true, and it is. Although the night's entertainment lineup is impressive, we cannot see anything, due to people packing in (almost certainly far over any fire limit - note to self, sit near exits). Not only that, the sound is so muffled, we can not hear Ruth Minnikin (note to self, remember how good she was last week "In the Dead of Winter"?). But we have fun. David Myles' girlfriend (famous CBC personality) is sitting with us, and we learn more about him than we really need to.
Home at 2:00 am, after a grab at a slice of Pizza at Tony's (note to self - what were you thinking?) and to bed.
Friday
Finishing work a bit early, we head down to the Palace to see some of the 24 hour Jam. Let's just say it was Bluegrass Hour, and the music was, um, interesting. A bluegrass version of Copperhead Road was the ___light. What was more fun was that they would not sell me a beer - it was an all Molson event, and despite the probable illegality of it (I think you need a special occasion license to restrict product sales to a paid sponsor) I was ready to play along. So I asked for a Rickards Red - there was a shelf full in the fridge in front of me. Nope, "we can only sell you Molson Ex and Canadian". Huh? But Rickards is Molson. "No, let me see, I can sell you Coors Light and Corona, though". We leave. So weird.
Arriving at Rogue's Roost my usual time. No IPA on tap - well, I guess this is somewhat understandable as the Grand Porter was supposed to be the IPA...... Somehow, I only manage to eat some potato skins.
From there we head down to the Casino and catch the Roots Room show. This was really very good, and ended with the slightly over the top performance of the Divorcees (only one is actually divorced, apparently, but maybe the rest are working on it). Amelia Curran went first, and to my taste, was the best of the acts, though many probably will tell you the Divorcees were. Unless they are a hard line Cape Breton fiddle/piano type, in which case Troy MacGillvary would punch their ticket. Amelia was followed by Norma Macdonald, who was good, but not as memorable as she was when I saw her last summer at the Celtic Corner. Then Troy, who was followed by a young, cute little Cape Breton gal named Chrissy Crowley who plays the fiddle very well, and is somewhat reminiscent of either a young Natalie McMaster... or one of the Brady Bunch.
Then the Divorcees came on and messed with the Caper's heads. That was fun.
Hey, there's Natalie D, half-cut, out drinking with her radio station sponsor pass-mates.
We headed out immediately for Ginger's, for good beer, and for the Music Association of Newfoundland Stage night there. As with Tribeca, we arrive just in time to get a seat before the hoardes. And this seat should be OK - anyone who would be such a jerk to block out our view would be cutting off the view of about 1/4 of the room.
Well, it just goes to show you, we Maritimers have an overdeveloped sense of just how nice we think we are. The people who came into that place were jerks. OK, not all of them, but some of them. Thinking themselves fans, they kept other, perhaps even bigger fans from seeing the acts for part of the night. Especially one parka clad Justin Timberlake wannabe lookalike that we just called "The Flying Squirrel" (he kept his parka on despite how hot it was, and kept airing himself out, you get the picture).
Despite the totally drunken and ignorant flux of "fans", the music was great, and worth being there for. The beer was fine too, with the IPA tasting dead on, as the UK style it is, making Keith's taste like, well, you know.
The evening lineup was as follows:
Ian Foster - Good, interesting songs, needs help with stage presence, voice sometimes annoying at high notes.
Chris Picco - Wow - hold the mike, we have something here. Lloyd Cole come to Newfoundland. This guy can write songs, and sing them. His backup, the rythym section from The Novaks, are not just sitting in for fun. They know the tunes and sing along. My first "find" of the fest.
Duane Andrews - Great finger guitar in the old Jazz thing where they work hard to make their guitars sound bad, like they did when pickups were first used. This man can play. I'll go see more, but I would love to hear him play a more normal guitar.
Sherry Ryan - maybe she was not feeling well. I don't know, there was some buzz around her, but she just fell flat with me. Occasionally off key, not quite country, not quite folk. Her final song brought some redemption, however, slipping occasionally into Lucinda-ness, which is a good place to go. Maybe she just needs the three thousand bad relationships and drug overdoses to catch up to Ms Williams.
The Novaks - Hot, tight, edgey power pop. They look like muppets, or those cute creatures from Star Wars. But who can see them, there are drunks standing in front of the band waving their parkas! Someone tells me the next day that Steve Van Zant is high on them. Not sure if Lil' Stevie has a parka....
Chris Kirby, and then "hey rosetta!" followed, but I left after the Novaks, all music'd out. The media guy I am with stays out real late, catching "On Vinyl" and "The Tom Fun Orchestra", then reportedly hits Tony's again. Does he not know the meaning of the word indigestion?
Saturday
Wake up sometime around 11. WTF? Oh yeah, it's the ECMA's! Yahoo....
Walk down and take lunch at O'Carroll's. I am still running on last evening's potato skins. Steak and Eggs are somewhat disappointing as they seem to use the same "breakfast striploin" that every pub in town uses. After Stayners last week, I am looking for more from this kitchen, attached, as it is, to a fine restaurant. At least the poached eggs are not superballs.
We pop over to the Casino and catch the last part of a Radio Show taping - In Flight Safety sounding like some band I hear on other people's radios. Meeting up with George Bauer (one of my music guru sources) I discover that this may be some band called "Coldplay" that I have heard of, but never really heard. George tells me it is hard to tell the difference - both bands play with the same level of emotion.
The media person had almost snoozed off, which is odd as he is reportedly a BIG Coldplay fan.
I drag him kicking and screaming someting about having Chris Martin's love child, all the way down along the waterfront to Bishops Landing, where we pretend to be interested in $89 bottles of Bordeaux, and then walk up to the new pub in the Brewery Market - The Red Stag. On the way in the Media Person taps the apparently stone archway. It is plastic. In fact almost all the inside of this place is fake plastic stone and brick. But wait, this is a 200 year old building made of real stone and brick - they put fake plastic over the real stone and brick? Lacking confidence in finding anything else real inside, especially beer, we run out of there. Fast.
We land at Maxwell's Plum, scoring the free peanuts, slurping on MacAuslan, Pumphouse, and Propeller beers, and eating a plate of poutine right down to the point where, when you look at it, it just don't look like food anymore.
It has very suddenly become nap time. Home to bed for a couple hours.
Eating at home this time (after my diet of the past few days, I needed real food) and sharing a bottle of good Languedoc red, we pronounce ourselves ready for another kick at the festival. A quick cab ride downtown finds us sliding into the Seahorse just before the crowd hits. Again, we are strategically positioned to be able to get out in case the overfilled room bursts into electrical short-caused flames, but still able to see the band as long as the AH quotient is lower here than in the Newfie event.
Of course, I should have known that we in Halifax can compete with St. John's on everything. Especially the overweight bearded 55 year old dude who parked himself right in front of us, blocking the way to the washroom, and feeling up the girls when they squeezed by as much as he could.
So, who did we see here? Well, this was the Music Nova Scotia Stage.....
Rebekah Higgs - She tries hard, has some good songs, but in Halifax, where great female singers seem to be falling out of the sky nowadays, she seems outmatched vocally and without having found her place yet.
Steven Bowers - Speaking of trying hard, this guy seems to work at collecting friends more than anyone. He has some nice songs (love the one about Catching Bees in Jars), but may not have that extra "it" to overcome the road to anonymity.
Jill Barber - Jill seems a little tipsy tonight, just where you want her to be - relaxed. ("I think I've had a little too much wine") She starts with "Moon River" delivered from the middle of the floor, singing back to her band, and moves on to cover music from her recent, and great, album, For All Time (buy it, that is all I can say). She ends the set by taking a request from the audience (Summertime) and getting everyone else to sing it for her. Two of the three people who did could have been on stage, they were that good.
Hotshot Robot - Holy Shit Batman! The B-52's meet Devo, with a bit of a trashy edge. Hot babe in tight dress on near toy synth playing spacey hooks while Devo-like guitarist slashes at chords played high speed with sloppy dressed but musically impeccable bassist playing edgey lines in time with frenetic drumming all with very bawdy lyrics from the mouth of a babe who looks like butter would not melt in her mouth. Fun fun fun but not for CHNS oldies....
Carmen Townsend - OK, sometime long ago, Jimmy Hendrix and Janis Joplin had a love child and left her in New Waterford. That is the only explanation I can come up with for this girl. Her band, called "The Shakey Deals" needs only to sit back and watch, but they do play along. I was 18 again, for about 15 minutes there.
Dr. dFunkt - And now for something completely different! I thought the Novaks looked a bit odd. This was serious hard paced sweaty funk from a Halifax Band I've never seen before. The leader looked like a version of Doctor Evil on way too many uppers. The bass player looked like some mountain man right out of Deliverance. If the music wasn't so frickin' great you would have to laugh, but instead you just moved to da groove.
I am still not sure if they were real.
Head home, L already there, having been to the Cape Breton night at the Lord Nelson where the stars were on stage, but the sound was not. But she was all excited at having been in attendance at Ashley MacIssac's wedding, which seemed to make up for not hearing anything but bass guitars all night. I made, and scarfed down a chicken burrito and crashed by 4 am.
Sunday
11:45 AM - is that coffee brewing that I hear?
Bacon eggs toast and coffee. Then down to the Songwriters Circle at the Casino to wait in line until they get the thing set up. There was some significant, semi-arrogant manipulation of the people for this one, making sure that we would all be ready by 3, by telling us it started at 2. Pure evil. I could have been in a pub really getting ready.
But it is worth the wait, as Bruce (I am just too good to believe) Gouthro manages to limit his adolescent banter to almost non-embarrassing levels, and participants Amelia Curran (voice almost shot from the weekend's work and revelries, but still impressing), Mark Bragg (voice also shot, he used to be just a blue axeman, now he also writes great, sometimes disturbing songs), Sarah Slean (a Goddess on this planet - ye who choose to disagree shall be burned at the stake - who completely had to rethink - she said "transcribe" the song "Mary" because her piano was tuned wrong, and did so beautifully), and the one who was a bit in over her head, (they always seem to put someone in that spot) Stephanie Hardy. She was OK, but was in deep. I'd like to see her in another context.
I just don't know about Gouthro. He is certainly talented, but he manages to perfectly project the image of someone trying very hard not to take himself seriously, when he obviously does, and maybe to a fault at that.
Dinner, after, at the Wooden Monkey is covered in another post.
And the redux:
1. The ECMA's are fun, but they do serve to remind us that we are no more polite to each other than New Yorkers.
2. At times, the events seem to be designed for the industry people to remind the paying public just how unimportant they are. In time, I wonder who will pay for the music.
3. Is it just me, or do we have more than our share of good female vocalists in Halifax? Jill Barber, Ruth Minnikin, Amelia Curran, Rose Cousins, Meaghan Smith, and Jenn Grant are all making very nice music right now, and there are clearly more in the wings and on the way. And Toni Piggot is making nice jazz stuff too.
4. Those same female vocalists all seem to have a noise in their repertoire at one point or another, some more than others, that sounds like a little doggie barking. "Ow ow-ow-ow Oooowwwww-ow-ow..." It is starting to get irritating, girls. Hold a note for chrissakes! (you're fine Toni, just don't start, please)
5. Guy to watch for - Chris Picco
6. Girl to watch for - Jen Clarke, who fronts Hot Shot Robot. This reminded me of the first time I saw Thrush Hermit and wondered who that kid fronting them was.
7. Music to buy: Rose Cousins, Sarah Slean, Amelia Curran, Jill Barber, maybe The Novaks... yeah, the Novaks. I'll probably get the Hot Shot Robot EP and report back on that. I have a Chris Picco demo he gave me, his album won't be out til spring.
8. Band to stay late to dance to: A tie, Hot Shot Robot and Dr. dFunckt. Either way, you will dance cause you got to.
Every year, one of the cities, or as some should be called, somewhat large towns, across the Maritimes and Newfoundland hosts the East Coast Music Awards. The main set of awards are usually about as pathetic as the Grammies, with no one who did anything that year of substance ever winning anything, and people being rewarded for sticking to it, or staying home, and punished for going down the road where real opportunties lie (except Gordie Sampson, who is soon to be promoted to Cape Breton deity alongside Allan J. MacEachen and Billy Joe). I mean, has the best band ever from here (Sloan) ever won an ECMA? (oops, guess what, they won something this year!)
What the ECMA's do is bring some focus to local music in the centres thoughout the Maritimes and Newfoundland at a time of year when the successful musicians (those working) are likely to be on cruise ships, at resorts, or at festivals in Australia. Of course this is still a good thing, as one thing I know, our musicians are just as good as anyone else's. Which is of course, by definition, average. That is what I was thinking when some mouthpiece at a showcase blurted out that we just want to show the rest of the world that our musicians are as good as any where else. I frickin' hope so, buddy!
What can make a difference is the vitality of a music scene and local industry that is vital enough to attract talent from other, less vital places. In Halifax, that means, um, well, it mostly means the other places that sometimes host the ECMA's. So when the ECMA's come to the city of Halifax, a lot of people from the other places come here to see how their exports are doing. They are called delegates, and are often getting a free ride paid for by a government organization like "Music NL", as one example. They have big parties and get drunk on their taxpayers' tabs, or on the fees their membership pays. At least as far as I can see, that's what they do.
Now we in Halifax cannot be considered as so sophisticated that we have outgrown our rabidly anxious need to receive adoration, or even a bit of credit for competence from other places, so we do what we can to bring people here to show them how good we are at making music. In fact, this desire for acceptance seems to be one of the underpinnings of the ECMA's - it tends to become a "look at me! See, I can do that too!" type of thing, as we strive to show the rest of Canada what we got, eh?
But I digress. The best part of the ECMA's, arguably, is not the awards show (is it ever the awards show?) but the general level of increased live music activity in the city. And for this, I very much appreciate the fact that the gathering happens. It gets me out to see local bands I might have missed... no, would have missed. Following is a bit of a travelogue of our adventures (I was in the tow of a media type who was covering the thing for an out of Province publication).
Thursday
Out to Gingers for a quick snack - beef stew, hot enough to stay safe to eat, tasty and cheap. The pints of bitter were dead on, as good as Ginger's Best ever is, both the regular and dry hopped version. We have a bit of a Juno nightmare recap with Joe Keefe, enjoying once again the famous story about the biting incident in the lineup for Jully Black.
Then it's down to Tribeca, where we arrive in time to get a seat at a table before the main crowd arrives. This seems too good to be true, and it is. Although the night's entertainment lineup is impressive, we cannot see anything, due to people packing in (almost certainly far over any fire limit - note to self, sit near exits). Not only that, the sound is so muffled, we can not hear Ruth Minnikin (note to self, remember how good she was last week "In the Dead of Winter"?). But we have fun. David Myles' girlfriend (famous CBC personality) is sitting with us, and we learn more about him than we really need to.
Home at 2:00 am, after a grab at a slice of Pizza at Tony's (note to self - what were you thinking?) and to bed.
Friday
Finishing work a bit early, we head down to the Palace to see some of the 24 hour Jam. Let's just say it was Bluegrass Hour, and the music was, um, interesting. A bluegrass version of Copperhead Road was the ___light. What was more fun was that they would not sell me a beer - it was an all Molson event, and despite the probable illegality of it (I think you need a special occasion license to restrict product sales to a paid sponsor) I was ready to play along. So I asked for a Rickards Red - there was a shelf full in the fridge in front of me. Nope, "we can only sell you Molson Ex and Canadian". Huh? But Rickards is Molson. "No, let me see, I can sell you Coors Light and Corona, though". We leave. So weird.
Arriving at Rogue's Roost my usual time. No IPA on tap - well, I guess this is somewhat understandable as the Grand Porter was supposed to be the IPA...... Somehow, I only manage to eat some potato skins.
From there we head down to the Casino and catch the Roots Room show. This was really very good, and ended with the slightly over the top performance of the Divorcees (only one is actually divorced, apparently, but maybe the rest are working on it). Amelia Curran went first, and to my taste, was the best of the acts, though many probably will tell you the Divorcees were. Unless they are a hard line Cape Breton fiddle/piano type, in which case Troy MacGillvary would punch their ticket. Amelia was followed by Norma Macdonald, who was good, but not as memorable as she was when I saw her last summer at the Celtic Corner. Then Troy, who was followed by a young, cute little Cape Breton gal named Chrissy Crowley who plays the fiddle very well, and is somewhat reminiscent of either a young Natalie McMaster... or one of the Brady Bunch.
Then the Divorcees came on and messed with the Caper's heads. That was fun.
Hey, there's Natalie D, half-cut, out drinking with her radio station sponsor pass-mates.
We headed out immediately for Ginger's, for good beer, and for the Music Association of Newfoundland Stage night there. As with Tribeca, we arrive just in time to get a seat before the hoardes. And this seat should be OK - anyone who would be such a jerk to block out our view would be cutting off the view of about 1/4 of the room.
Well, it just goes to show you, we Maritimers have an overdeveloped sense of just how nice we think we are. The people who came into that place were jerks. OK, not all of them, but some of them. Thinking themselves fans, they kept other, perhaps even bigger fans from seeing the acts for part of the night. Especially one parka clad Justin Timberlake wannabe lookalike that we just called "The Flying Squirrel" (he kept his parka on despite how hot it was, and kept airing himself out, you get the picture).
Despite the totally drunken and ignorant flux of "fans", the music was great, and worth being there for. The beer was fine too, with the IPA tasting dead on, as the UK style it is, making Keith's taste like, well, you know.
The evening lineup was as follows:
Ian Foster - Good, interesting songs, needs help with stage presence, voice sometimes annoying at high notes.
Chris Picco - Wow - hold the mike, we have something here. Lloyd Cole come to Newfoundland. This guy can write songs, and sing them. His backup, the rythym section from The Novaks, are not just sitting in for fun. They know the tunes and sing along. My first "find" of the fest.
Duane Andrews - Great finger guitar in the old Jazz thing where they work hard to make their guitars sound bad, like they did when pickups were first used. This man can play. I'll go see more, but I would love to hear him play a more normal guitar.
Sherry Ryan - maybe she was not feeling well. I don't know, there was some buzz around her, but she just fell flat with me. Occasionally off key, not quite country, not quite folk. Her final song brought some redemption, however, slipping occasionally into Lucinda-ness, which is a good place to go. Maybe she just needs the three thousand bad relationships and drug overdoses to catch up to Ms Williams.
The Novaks - Hot, tight, edgey power pop. They look like muppets, or those cute creatures from Star Wars. But who can see them, there are drunks standing in front of the band waving their parkas! Someone tells me the next day that Steve Van Zant is high on them. Not sure if Lil' Stevie has a parka....
Chris Kirby, and then "hey rosetta!" followed, but I left after the Novaks, all music'd out. The media guy I am with stays out real late, catching "On Vinyl" and "The Tom Fun Orchestra", then reportedly hits Tony's again. Does he not know the meaning of the word indigestion?
Saturday
Wake up sometime around 11. WTF? Oh yeah, it's the ECMA's! Yahoo....
Walk down and take lunch at O'Carroll's. I am still running on last evening's potato skins. Steak and Eggs are somewhat disappointing as they seem to use the same "breakfast striploin" that every pub in town uses. After Stayners last week, I am looking for more from this kitchen, attached, as it is, to a fine restaurant. At least the poached eggs are not superballs.
We pop over to the Casino and catch the last part of a Radio Show taping - In Flight Safety sounding like some band I hear on other people's radios. Meeting up with George Bauer (one of my music guru sources) I discover that this may be some band called "Coldplay" that I have heard of, but never really heard. George tells me it is hard to tell the difference - both bands play with the same level of emotion.
The media person had almost snoozed off, which is odd as he is reportedly a BIG Coldplay fan.
I drag him kicking and screaming someting about having Chris Martin's love child, all the way down along the waterfront to Bishops Landing, where we pretend to be interested in $89 bottles of Bordeaux, and then walk up to the new pub in the Brewery Market - The Red Stag. On the way in the Media Person taps the apparently stone archway. It is plastic. In fact almost all the inside of this place is fake plastic stone and brick. But wait, this is a 200 year old building made of real stone and brick - they put fake plastic over the real stone and brick? Lacking confidence in finding anything else real inside, especially beer, we run out of there. Fast.
We land at Maxwell's Plum, scoring the free peanuts, slurping on MacAuslan, Pumphouse, and Propeller beers, and eating a plate of poutine right down to the point where, when you look at it, it just don't look like food anymore.
It has very suddenly become nap time. Home to bed for a couple hours.
Eating at home this time (after my diet of the past few days, I needed real food) and sharing a bottle of good Languedoc red, we pronounce ourselves ready for another kick at the festival. A quick cab ride downtown finds us sliding into the Seahorse just before the crowd hits. Again, we are strategically positioned to be able to get out in case the overfilled room bursts into electrical short-caused flames, but still able to see the band as long as the AH quotient is lower here than in the Newfie event.
Of course, I should have known that we in Halifax can compete with St. John's on everything. Especially the overweight bearded 55 year old dude who parked himself right in front of us, blocking the way to the washroom, and feeling up the girls when they squeezed by as much as he could.
So, who did we see here? Well, this was the Music Nova Scotia Stage.....
Rebekah Higgs - She tries hard, has some good songs, but in Halifax, where great female singers seem to be falling out of the sky nowadays, she seems outmatched vocally and without having found her place yet.
Steven Bowers - Speaking of trying hard, this guy seems to work at collecting friends more than anyone. He has some nice songs (love the one about Catching Bees in Jars), but may not have that extra "it" to overcome the road to anonymity.
Jill Barber - Jill seems a little tipsy tonight, just where you want her to be - relaxed. ("I think I've had a little too much wine") She starts with "Moon River" delivered from the middle of the floor, singing back to her band, and moves on to cover music from her recent, and great, album, For All Time (buy it, that is all I can say). She ends the set by taking a request from the audience (Summertime) and getting everyone else to sing it for her. Two of the three people who did could have been on stage, they were that good.
Hotshot Robot - Holy Shit Batman! The B-52's meet Devo, with a bit of a trashy edge. Hot babe in tight dress on near toy synth playing spacey hooks while Devo-like guitarist slashes at chords played high speed with sloppy dressed but musically impeccable bassist playing edgey lines in time with frenetic drumming all with very bawdy lyrics from the mouth of a babe who looks like butter would not melt in her mouth. Fun fun fun but not for CHNS oldies....
Carmen Townsend - OK, sometime long ago, Jimmy Hendrix and Janis Joplin had a love child and left her in New Waterford. That is the only explanation I can come up with for this girl. Her band, called "The Shakey Deals" needs only to sit back and watch, but they do play along. I was 18 again, for about 15 minutes there.
Dr. dFunkt - And now for something completely different! I thought the Novaks looked a bit odd. This was serious hard paced sweaty funk from a Halifax Band I've never seen before. The leader looked like a version of Doctor Evil on way too many uppers. The bass player looked like some mountain man right out of Deliverance. If the music wasn't so frickin' great you would have to laugh, but instead you just moved to da groove.
I am still not sure if they were real.
Head home, L already there, having been to the Cape Breton night at the Lord Nelson where the stars were on stage, but the sound was not. But she was all excited at having been in attendance at Ashley MacIssac's wedding, which seemed to make up for not hearing anything but bass guitars all night. I made, and scarfed down a chicken burrito and crashed by 4 am.
Sunday
11:45 AM - is that coffee brewing that I hear?
Bacon eggs toast and coffee. Then down to the Songwriters Circle at the Casino to wait in line until they get the thing set up. There was some significant, semi-arrogant manipulation of the people for this one, making sure that we would all be ready by 3, by telling us it started at 2. Pure evil. I could have been in a pub really getting ready.
But it is worth the wait, as Bruce (I am just too good to believe) Gouthro manages to limit his adolescent banter to almost non-embarrassing levels, and participants Amelia Curran (voice almost shot from the weekend's work and revelries, but still impressing), Mark Bragg (voice also shot, he used to be just a blue axeman, now he also writes great, sometimes disturbing songs), Sarah Slean (a Goddess on this planet - ye who choose to disagree shall be burned at the stake - who completely had to rethink - she said "transcribe" the song "Mary" because her piano was tuned wrong, and did so beautifully), and the one who was a bit in over her head, (they always seem to put someone in that spot) Stephanie Hardy. She was OK, but was in deep. I'd like to see her in another context.
I just don't know about Gouthro. He is certainly talented, but he manages to perfectly project the image of someone trying very hard not to take himself seriously, when he obviously does, and maybe to a fault at that.
Dinner, after, at the Wooden Monkey is covered in another post.
And the redux:
1. The ECMA's are fun, but they do serve to remind us that we are no more polite to each other than New Yorkers.
2. At times, the events seem to be designed for the industry people to remind the paying public just how unimportant they are. In time, I wonder who will pay for the music.
3. Is it just me, or do we have more than our share of good female vocalists in Halifax? Jill Barber, Ruth Minnikin, Amelia Curran, Rose Cousins, Meaghan Smith, and Jenn Grant are all making very nice music right now, and there are clearly more in the wings and on the way. And Toni Piggot is making nice jazz stuff too.
4. Those same female vocalists all seem to have a noise in their repertoire at one point or another, some more than others, that sounds like a little doggie barking. "Ow ow-ow-ow Oooowwwww-ow-ow..." It is starting to get irritating, girls. Hold a note for chrissakes! (you're fine Toni, just don't start, please)
5. Guy to watch for - Chris Picco
6. Girl to watch for - Jen Clarke, who fronts Hot Shot Robot. This reminded me of the first time I saw Thrush Hermit and wondered who that kid fronting them was.
7. Music to buy: Rose Cousins, Sarah Slean, Amelia Curran, Jill Barber, maybe The Novaks... yeah, the Novaks. I'll probably get the Hot Shot Robot EP and report back on that. I have a Chris Picco demo he gave me, his album won't be out til spring.
8. Band to stay late to dance to: A tie, Hot Shot Robot and Dr. dFunckt. Either way, you will dance cause you got to.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
One Show at One World
I went to see part of the "In the Dead of Winter" music festival happening in Halifax the week before the ECMA's flew into town with their government grants and money sucking bureaucrats. This festival, organized by a few performers (actual musicians, not the lampreys and leeches from the "Music Industry", my apologies to Steve Coady if he ever reads this, but remember Steve - you used to play for money, you are for real) brought a lot of local talent close to my door on a Saturday when I needed a break from the pubs, and from the responsibilities, what little I have, in life.
I arrived during the first songwriters circle, direct from Dal Theatre's latest production (a fairly surreal piece of theatre) right in the middle of a song by a guy I later found out to be named Royal Wood. I know that sounds a bit like a bathroom fixture product, but this guy can sing. I have to say he has the best voice I have heard from a male singer locally, maybe ever. But then again, it seems that he is from Toronto and was just visiting. Well, at least he is Canadian. I am buying his album, and predicting great things.
Next Pamela Underwater came out and did her set, based on some very tasteful vocals in a loop, plus some guitar or bass lines and building a song from scratch with the machine (a sequencer, or something like that?) She was very good at this, and was able ot cast some kind of ambience/spell over the place once she got going. I saw Danny Michel do this last fall, perhaps in a bit more technically competent manner, but not with the level of art she managed. My only complaint was that the thing was on the floor in front of her, and about all we saw of her was her hair hiding her face as she bent over to play with the thing. Pamela - buy a stand for the sucker!
Another song circle followed with David Myles, Tanya Davis, and Melissa Trottier (Dave Carmichael's partner). This was as good a song swap as I've seen anywhere, with Myles' sincere friendly personality and high level of musicianship anchoring Tanya's honest, sometimes painfully so, songs of love being sought and seldom found; and Melissa's beauty, in song and person. I suppose the highlight for most was the singalong-ability of Myles' "I'm Getting Old" a local CBC "hit", that everyone in the place knew the chorous of, and demonstrated that knowledge. I kinda have Melissa's last song, in French, about swans on the lake in Switzerland where she and Dave were staying/working last year stuck in my head.
I was really there to see Andy McDaniel, ex of Leonard Conan, do his first live set in years. Andy is better known as one of those guys at Sam the Record man who knows what you want before you go in. Andy came on, and set a beautiful groove with his thrown together band of Halifax based musicians. They made a great sound in the place, with his quirky, but likeable vocals mixing tunes, old and new. My favourite was his last, flying solo without backup. Turns out it is a new tune - so Andy is writing songs!
Next up was a guy named Joe Belly (no I am not kidding, and no, he was not fat). He had an honest, slightly high pitched and raspy voice, and some fun songs. I thnk we'll see more of him in time, as I think he is on the edge of better things.
The last act I could stay for was Ruth Minnikin, she of Guthries and Heavy Blinkers fame. Her solo act is quiet, introspective, sometimes funny, and sometimes very beautiful. I do enjoy her song about the spider that came to stay with her for a summer. Dave Christensen, one of the music gurus who make Heavy Blinkers run sat in on flute, doing his usual tastful job of filling and running with the tunes.
I went home, and inspired by the afternoon's aroma filled space from the heathy food kitchen at One World (God the pizza smelled fine), proceeded to make a cake, and a better than average supper, letting the smell of food fill my space too.
Who needs the Eck-maas?
Well, we'll see next week.
I arrived during the first songwriters circle, direct from Dal Theatre's latest production (a fairly surreal piece of theatre) right in the middle of a song by a guy I later found out to be named Royal Wood. I know that sounds a bit like a bathroom fixture product, but this guy can sing. I have to say he has the best voice I have heard from a male singer locally, maybe ever. But then again, it seems that he is from Toronto and was just visiting. Well, at least he is Canadian. I am buying his album, and predicting great things.
Next Pamela Underwater came out and did her set, based on some very tasteful vocals in a loop, plus some guitar or bass lines and building a song from scratch with the machine (a sequencer, or something like that?) She was very good at this, and was able ot cast some kind of ambience/spell over the place once she got going. I saw Danny Michel do this last fall, perhaps in a bit more technically competent manner, but not with the level of art she managed. My only complaint was that the thing was on the floor in front of her, and about all we saw of her was her hair hiding her face as she bent over to play with the thing. Pamela - buy a stand for the sucker!
Another song circle followed with David Myles, Tanya Davis, and Melissa Trottier (Dave Carmichael's partner). This was as good a song swap as I've seen anywhere, with Myles' sincere friendly personality and high level of musicianship anchoring Tanya's honest, sometimes painfully so, songs of love being sought and seldom found; and Melissa's beauty, in song and person. I suppose the highlight for most was the singalong-ability of Myles' "I'm Getting Old" a local CBC "hit", that everyone in the place knew the chorous of, and demonstrated that knowledge. I kinda have Melissa's last song, in French, about swans on the lake in Switzerland where she and Dave were staying/working last year stuck in my head.
I was really there to see Andy McDaniel, ex of Leonard Conan, do his first live set in years. Andy is better known as one of those guys at Sam the Record man who knows what you want before you go in. Andy came on, and set a beautiful groove with his thrown together band of Halifax based musicians. They made a great sound in the place, with his quirky, but likeable vocals mixing tunes, old and new. My favourite was his last, flying solo without backup. Turns out it is a new tune - so Andy is writing songs!
Next up was a guy named Joe Belly (no I am not kidding, and no, he was not fat). He had an honest, slightly high pitched and raspy voice, and some fun songs. I thnk we'll see more of him in time, as I think he is on the edge of better things.
The last act I could stay for was Ruth Minnikin, she of Guthries and Heavy Blinkers fame. Her solo act is quiet, introspective, sometimes funny, and sometimes very beautiful. I do enjoy her song about the spider that came to stay with her for a summer. Dave Christensen, one of the music gurus who make Heavy Blinkers run sat in on flute, doing his usual tastful job of filling and running with the tunes.
I went home, and inspired by the afternoon's aroma filled space from the heathy food kitchen at One World (God the pizza smelled fine), proceeded to make a cake, and a better than average supper, letting the smell of food fill my space too.
Who needs the Eck-maas?
Well, we'll see next week.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Gypsy Hedgehogs at Stayners
Late evening revelry at Stayners Wharf has us there to catch Hotchiwitchi, a local group that does a pretty good take on Django Reinhart style "hot jazz", We sample the menu as well as the beer.
Jason, formerly at John Shippey's, looks after us well. Good beer, though my Propeller Pale Ale is getting on, having lost some of the hoppy freshness it has when at its best. The Porter is much better this evening.
The appetizers we try are really very very good, and suggest tghe need for a full frontal assault on the menu at a later date. Gravlax with fresh bread and a mustard sauce, and Cajun Chicken strips breaded in house with a corn meal and served with a really good hot sauce, were way above average for the city.
Others at the table who ate were similarily impressed.
And we got a cab prety quickly, on this, the night of the BIG PUB CRAWL.
PS. "Hotchi" or "hotchi-witchi" is a Romanian nickname for the hedgehog.
Jason, formerly at John Shippey's, looks after us well. Good beer, though my Propeller Pale Ale is getting on, having lost some of the hoppy freshness it has when at its best. The Porter is much better this evening.
The appetizers we try are really very very good, and suggest tghe need for a full frontal assault on the menu at a later date. Gravlax with fresh bread and a mustard sauce, and Cajun Chicken strips breaded in house with a corn meal and served with a really good hot sauce, were way above average for the city.
Others at the table who ate were similarily impressed.
And we got a cab prety quickly, on this, the night of the BIG PUB CRAWL.
PS. "Hotchi" or "hotchi-witchi" is a Romanian nickname for the hedgehog.
Chef on the Common
My wine friend, C, and his wife D were coming into town and she wanted to try eating at jane's on the common. This couple has eaten pretty well all over the world, but living outside the city in winter, the best she can do is to have him cook for her. Now for most couples, that would mean that meals might be somewhat limited, but in her case D has access to the skills of one of Nova Scotia's most travelled, well known, and, in the chef world, influential chefs. You see C may be one of my wine geek buddies, but he is also a Chef & Certified Sommelier and Manager of Culinary Team Nova Scotia, our "Provincial Cooking Team".
In short, when he eats at a restaurant, usually the people making the food get a bit anxious. I have been with him at one high end restaurant in Halifax when all the kitchen staff essentially filed out by rank to welcome him, almost like kissing the Pope's ring.
After a couple glasses of Rosé Prosecco, we walk around the corner and find ourselves looking at a 20 minute wait for a table of 4 (L was joining us later).
While at the bar, Jane, who is working, strikes up a conversation, as she usually does. Then she turns to C "You're a chef, aren't you?" I had been trying to keep some anonymity, but apparently that is shot. Plus I did not want him thinking I told her he was coming. But no, turns out she just recognized him. She is, after all, a fairly acute business person, with a somewhat "political" background, so I suppose that is to be expected.
Anyway, we get a table, in time, and L arrives almost as we are being led to it. We order some red wines by the glass (the Jost Trilogy tasted great, simply yummy) and ordered starters, Shrimp Cake for L, salads for C and D and a mushroom tart for me. All were very well received.
Main courses, the daily special Lamb Shank for C and L, and steaks for D and I (I know, we were kinda boring with our orders). My rare steak came medium (in my books, anyway) and D's medium was more like medium well. Great cuts, and tasty (I love Stilton on my beef, it slows up my arteries and keeps me from running into things...)but cooked longer than they should have been for what we asked. C did not enthuse over his main, but was not complaining either, and D did catch him chewing the last morsels directly off the bone, admonishing him about his table manners! My sense was that the lamb was how it should be.
Desserts followed, my Creme Caramel pretty well perfect, C's Chocolate Hazelnut Torte enjoyed, but too much weight for him to finish after the lamb, D's baked Jona Gold Apple with raisins and other things reportedly "delicious", and L's Gingerbread gone like a new Titlist into the lake.
But the fun part was that there was no apparent homage paid. No-one from the kitchen was seen, though in time the place had slowed near the end of the evening and they would not have been overly busy in there. No, C didn't get worshipped like I thought he might.
I enjoyed Jane's light touch, whether she did so deliberately, or not, allowing him to experience the place the way the rest of us do. He is in the business, after all, and should be able to experience the place like anyone else would, so that he can honestly advise others as to whether to go or not. I think C was happy with this, at least I think he was. I know that chefs all have egos - you have to, to do what they do for a living, but he seems to be self assured enough that his ego does not need the stroking that some do. And a good thing, too, because he wasn't getting it this evening!
In short, when he eats at a restaurant, usually the people making the food get a bit anxious. I have been with him at one high end restaurant in Halifax when all the kitchen staff essentially filed out by rank to welcome him, almost like kissing the Pope's ring.
After a couple glasses of Rosé Prosecco, we walk around the corner and find ourselves looking at a 20 minute wait for a table of 4 (L was joining us later).
While at the bar, Jane, who is working, strikes up a conversation, as she usually does. Then she turns to C "You're a chef, aren't you?" I had been trying to keep some anonymity, but apparently that is shot. Plus I did not want him thinking I told her he was coming. But no, turns out she just recognized him. She is, after all, a fairly acute business person, with a somewhat "political" background, so I suppose that is to be expected.
Anyway, we get a table, in time, and L arrives almost as we are being led to it. We order some red wines by the glass (the Jost Trilogy tasted great, simply yummy) and ordered starters, Shrimp Cake for L, salads for C and D and a mushroom tart for me. All were very well received.
Main courses, the daily special Lamb Shank for C and L, and steaks for D and I (I know, we were kinda boring with our orders). My rare steak came medium (in my books, anyway) and D's medium was more like medium well. Great cuts, and tasty (I love Stilton on my beef, it slows up my arteries and keeps me from running into things...)but cooked longer than they should have been for what we asked. C did not enthuse over his main, but was not complaining either, and D did catch him chewing the last morsels directly off the bone, admonishing him about his table manners! My sense was that the lamb was how it should be.
Desserts followed, my Creme Caramel pretty well perfect, C's Chocolate Hazelnut Torte enjoyed, but too much weight for him to finish after the lamb, D's baked Jona Gold Apple with raisins and other things reportedly "delicious", and L's Gingerbread gone like a new Titlist into the lake.
But the fun part was that there was no apparent homage paid. No-one from the kitchen was seen, though in time the place had slowed near the end of the evening and they would not have been overly busy in there. No, C didn't get worshipped like I thought he might.
I enjoyed Jane's light touch, whether she did so deliberately, or not, allowing him to experience the place the way the rest of us do. He is in the business, after all, and should be able to experience the place like anyone else would, so that he can honestly advise others as to whether to go or not. I think C was happy with this, at least I think he was. I know that chefs all have egos - you have to, to do what they do for a living, but he seems to be self assured enough that his ego does not need the stroking that some do. And a good thing, too, because he wasn't getting it this evening!
Sunday, February 04, 2007
The I-Swine Festival - We pig out on Niagara's Finest
An expedition leaves Halifax for Saint Catherines, headed into the middle of the final weekend of the wine growing region's Icewine Festival. We meet up with other like minded people there, and commence a two day tour.
First it is Friday night supper and beers at The Merchant Ale House in St. Catherines. A great selection of beer, mostly quite fresh and tasty, especially the Wellington County Arkell on the hand pump. Hearty, tasty pub food, and great service highlight this cost venue for a cold snowy winter's eve.
The next morning we are up and at it and off to Angel's Gate Winery to meet up with the rest of our friends, making us a 10 person group. We then visit Fielding Estates, sampling their Icewine treat, and generally having a great time there with the welcoming staff.
Then it is off to Vineland Estates for lunch at their beautiful restaurant. On a clear day, you can see the Toronto Skyline, some 60 km away, but today we are greyed in. The view is limited to the vineyard, cloaked in snow, and our fellow dining companions. The food is interesting, tasty and well presented. Service is good, but a bit on the slow side, especially in the process of letting us escape to try more wineries.
We continue on the Malivoire, Cave Spring, Henry of Pelham and Flat Rock. Ending the day's touring in their magnificent tasting and sales room, perched on stilts above their vineyard.
That evening, we feast on our own cooking, after a trip to the grocery store and the opening of numerous bottles. Cheeses, breads, pasta, meats..... and lots of fine Niagara wine.
The next day we are back at it, and today our tour is highlighted by a detailed tour of Stratus, a fairly new entry to the Niagara scene. The tour is hosted by Peter Gamble, who is one of the people behind the soon to be opened Benjamin Bridge Winery in the Gaspereau Valley back home in Nova Scotia.
After a visit to Maleta Estate Winery, we tour Stratus, and visit Lailey Vineyards, Pilleterri Estates, Hillebrand Estates, Caroline Cellars, Coyote's Run, and finally Chateau des Charmes.
All in all, two days of fun, fifteen wineries, and a lot of fine wines.
My conclusions after this trip are that Niagara produces excellent Riesling, very good to excellent Chardonnay, above average Cab Franc, and occasionally, very good Pinot Noir and Meritage. The sparkling wines I tried also showed very well.
I used this trip, my second to this region this year, to reconnect to Chardonnay - I have been turned off it by over-oaking and malolactic smarmy Californian and Australian versions, but am now seeking out the clearer, minerally Chablis style that can sometimes be found where oak is not used, or used sparingly, and Burgundian styles where oak is present, but in balance with good acidity remaining.
In fact, you just might see me recommend a Chardonnay soon - stranger things have happened.
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