We’re in the dog days of summer and the throes of what feels like a two-month-long heatwave. Yes, you can remind me of how much I complained about the heat in February when I’m freezing something vital off, but you probably won’t like my response. Anyway, it’s hot here, so that means every restaurant in Toronto is serving up bowls of gazpacho or vichyssoise. And because I’m hopelessly susceptible to peer pressure, my brain whispered this Cold Shoyu Somen to me the other day and I decided to listen. I’d never made a cold soup of any kind before because I’m unreasonably wary of them. I am, for whatever reason, always convinced I won’t enjoy them. But, you know what? I made this chilled noodle soup and I loved it.
Some of my earliest memories are centered around meat and potatoes. Every Sunday my family would pile into the car and head over to my grandmother’s house for dinner. Without fail she’d always serve a roast alongside a mountain of mashed potatoes. My sister was a roast beef kind of girl, but I was in it for the roast pork. I loved that roast pork not because it was brined or smoked to rosy pink perfection. My grandmother wasn’t that kind of cook. She grew up on a farm, fussing was not in her DNA. No, what I loved about her roast pork was the applesauce that accompanied it. It was one of the first times fruit and meat crossed paths on my dinner plate and it was certainly not the last. Today’s Apricot Stuffed Pork Chops are just another by-product of a food obsession hatched in my formative years.
Oh! Tiki culture, you morally confusing beast. I love your bright colors and unabashed tackery. But I’m troubled by your cultural appropriation of Polynesian mythology and imagery. To say I’m conflicted about tiki culture would be an understatement. But having said that, I have to admit it fascinates me. It’s a bizarre mash-up of misinterpreted cultural symbols and mid-century American aesthetics. It’s strangely beautiful, there’s no getting around it. So, when you isolate tiki culture from the unfair stereotypes it places on a minority, it’s not difficult to see its charms. But is it a given that it should be seen as its own stand-alone cultural phenomenon? No, not necessarily. So, before we get to the frothy, blue fun that is Blue Hawaii Granita let me be clear: Tiki culture is not to be mistaken for Polynesian culture. Okay, I feel marginally better, let’s press on.
Brunch is a funny meal. It is one of the only meals that confronts you with a very difficult choice: sweet or savory. Think about it. How often do you ask yourself this question when it comes to lunch or dinner. Sure, tea time can mean anything from sandwiches to