After a lengthy absence, as a result of a year(ish) long ‘big girl’ contract, I haven’t been blogging as much as I would have liked.

That’s all changing now. I am inspired. I want to share.

My inspiration comes as a result of several different ‘bon voyage’ meals in a row with new friends leaving town after finishing their own contracts.

If you know me at all, you will already know that I DON’T love to eat and like to cook even less. I am one of those ‘eat to live’ types and, if I can ‘eat to live’ pasta in its many forms, I am happy.



My issue is that restaurants/chefs/cooking, in an effort to differentiate themselves from one another, have gone to the dogs. (Maybe it’s just that the food that I have at these restaurants comes straight to my grateful yet disloyal dogs.)

When did quinoa become a thing? Furthermore: why did quinoa become a thing? My Open Kwong Dore podcast partner Paul is the resident hipster in my life, and even he thinks that things have gotten out of control. We were recently talking about one of those ubiquitous cooking shows on TV where contestants have to come up with a dish from a basket of mystery ingredients.

“Ok Chefs – we’re going to have you create an entree from bison cheeks, quail eggs, fennel and, oh yeah, skittles. GO!”

By the way – if they can do something with that basket AND arrange it into a ‘gastrique’ – so much the better. (Yeah, I don’t know what gastrique means either – but it must be important; enough to be mentioned twice in the recent Chopped Canada show that I saw.)

I might be better off if I never read a menu again. If the image wasn’t already created for me, it might not personally be as crazy-making. I was in a fancy restaurant recently, by accident, that offered nothing appealing to me. It started (and ended) with an item that featured ‘deconstructed duck’.

I am no expert, however, don’t most meat things have to be deconstructed in order for them to fit in the pan? Regardless, I don’t like to think about it and certainly not with organic greens and drizzled balsamic goo on the side.

In the name of all that is holy, I am begging for a return to dark, oak-paneled rooms, banquettes, waiters named Henri, surf and turf and caesar salads that are made at the side of the table.Henri the waiter

In my world, chocolate has only yummy-ness and no redeeming qualities of dark cocoa percentages to share.

There. I’ve said it.

Long live the diner!






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