The Unsung Heroes

As consumers we tend to take many things for granted; the availability of a product, for example, or the readiness of our order at a time most convenient to our lifestyle. This demanding and expecting side of our nature expands to and beyond every facet of our day to day lives, but I think no more does this expectation for greatness go without gratitude or appreciation to those responsible then at our very own grocer; more specifically, the butcher.

I would go so far as to say that the talents of a butcher are a result of artistry and erudition; the knowledge, accuracy, care and time that an individual must put into their lives to provide for us the most succulent cuts of meat, from peameal bacon to baby backs, ground chuck or the gold star, king of all cuts, the rib-eye steak, is worthy of our acknowledgement and many, many thanks. Butterflied, skinless, Frenched, trimmed, silver skin removed, bone out, you name it, the guys and girls on the other side of the counter and behind the scenes of what is often the mainstay of our meal, are, let's face it, doing the meticulous and sometimes nasty tasks that we either don't want to do or simply don't allow the time for.

And so today, inspired by my appreciation for the butcher, I struck up a craving for something fresh cut and local. Something delicious and exciting, wrapped in that brown wax paper that we like to show off at a barbecue or a party, which somehow says "Inside this package is the most flavourful epicurean bounty one could possibly hope for. Something of a surprise to get excited for. Something extra special."

My research for locations throughout the city brought me with great surprise to a place just down the street from my home. It is what I would call a "blink of an eye" market and goes by the name of Valeriote's. I say blink of an eye because if one wasn't readily looking for it or didn't have a friend who already knew of its existence, then they would most likely pass right by it, especially given that it's on the corner of two residential side streets. Regardless of its location, my investigation has listed good things about this place and so in I went, searching for tidings for my plate.

To be completely honest, I'm not sure that I was initially blown away by the establishment, the exterior being crowded by many high school students smoking in the parking lot and parading through the neighbouring convenience store was a bit of a turn off; I just know now to not to visit during lunch hour. As far as the interior standards are concerned, as I mentioned before it is small; it's also dimly lit and doesn't exactly scream butcher shop, but, with that being said I was immediately greeted by the owner who was quick to find something to suit my needs and answer any questions I had. The guys there know their cuts and it's obvious by their counter selections that they have talent and knowledge for what they do and evidently love, and so, first impressions aside, I can ultimately say that I was, and still am, impressed with the business.

So, with a few ideas in mind, I perused their shop for a short while, eyeing up what they have to offer before eventually making my way back to the display case where marbled cuts of new york begged to be bought up. This is where things can get tricky, or to better put it, challenging for an apartment dweller, since most meats benefit greatly from the hot iron bars of a backyard grill. However, I am always up for overcoming challenges and so I happily walked away with two incredibly thick, local (within 50 miles), beautifully trimmed lamb chops.

Excited and inspired, I rushed home with ideas racing through my head on how to prepare my butcher's choice. Rosemary or grainy mustard? Red skin potatoes or couscous? Bell pepper medley or asparagus? So many choices, all leading to one dramatic climax of mouth watering euphoria, the recipe to follow.

It is here that I wish to conclude by saying that with so many cooking methods to explore and flavours to mix, there should be no limitations to the kitchen experience. Whether you live in an apartment or condo, house or trailer, there is always a reason to visit the artisans of our townships, the craftsmen behind our daily fare. Get to know who they are, since they are the ones who control what ends up in your shopping carts. Don't be afraid to make conversation and shake hands (sanitizer recommended), they are the masters behind the meal and can recommend, grind, slice, cut, chop and trim ideas that you didn't know were there. Open up and play with the ingredients in your fridge, get creative and bring the next hit to your dinner party.

Happy eating everyone.

-Phil

Valeriote's Market

204 Yorkshire Street North

Guelph, ON

OK, so, with many options on the plate, my final decision was to keep the lamb speaking for itself. If I am going to go so far as to make a request for certain cut of meat, then I don't necessarily want to mask its flavour with overpowering herbs and spices. Instead, I kept it simple, seasoning with salt and pepper, pan searing and then gently roasting to medium-rare.

To amp up the flavour and accompany those tender chops, I whipped up a garlic mint aioli and served them alongside basmati rice and a julienne of sauteed carrots, zucchini and red onions. When it comes to sides we often forget about the multitude of flavours at our easy reach; you don't always need to rely on the potato. Couscous, bulgur wheat, rice, chick pea mash, there's plenty to experiment with; and since I couldn't have been happier with my meal, here's my recipe for the mint aioli:

2 large egg yolks, brought to room temperature

1 1/4 cup vegetable oil

2 cups loosely packed fresh mint, finely chopped

2 cloves garlic, minced

Juice of 1 lemon

Whisk the eggs for a minute to encourage coagulation, then very, very, slowly whisk in half of the oil, (if you whisk too quickly then there will be no emulsion and you will end up with nothing more then a runny bowl of deconstructed mayonnaise). Add in the garlic, mint and lemon, then continue to slowly whisk the remaining oil. Should be the consistency of mayonnaise and your arms should be sore and tired from the constant whisking. Season with salt and pepper and chill until ready to serve.

Pierre's Poutine

Its origins have been a debate since the 1950's, with a few convincing fables to take the crown but none of which being irrefutably true. Its name was derived from a word which carries just as much mystery as its creator, having no real definition until almost twenty years after its inception. It causes heated discussion between provinces and neighbours, dividing culinary ideas with sheer and justifiable stubbornness. From sight to smell and taste, and even at the very mention of its name, one can feel the arteries clog, sacrificing health for delicious sin. Yes, I speak of course of the wonderfully salty, rich and gooey, complimenting mix of textures, Quebec's gift to the world: poutine.

As a fan of indulgence, when I first passed by Pierre's green and yellow store front one afternoon, I caught a young couple sitting at the bar stools by the window dining on an appetizingly stringy mound of melted cheese; moments later, without even thinking about it, I found myself in line for a snack.

Without really needing to look at the menu, I placed my order for "what they're having" and waited eagerly for my fill; the ensuing attack on my senses was heavenly. If we judge food first by its smell, then I was taken away; the aroma of fresh-cut fries, frying in clean oil, teasing my hunger with each breath (if you've ever worked in a restaurant then you will know the appreciation for a clean deep fryer). To judge second by sight, I was watering at the mouth as rich brown gravy was poured over top of a mound of real cheese curds. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, the flavours cascading over my taste buds as I took my first piping hot bite, well, to put it simply folks, I believe the word is mmmmmmmm..........

Touching back on history for a moment, whoever it was that one day said "Take these potatoes, deep fry them, cover them with cheese and the top it all off with gravy" is deserving of high praise in my books. I've been a fan of the dish for as long as I can remember and in that time there have been many debates amongst friends regarding Ontario's idea of poutine; how it pales in comparison to the real deal that is Quebec cuisine. Not just between peers, this feud has gone on between the provinces for as long as poutine has been around, and it seems with good reason. I've tried many variations over the years, in both provinces, and, truth be told, Quebec always seems to win the battle. I can't tell you why. I don't know what they are doing differently, it just tastes better. Unfortunately it's farther than I'm willing to drive for food. Well, maybe not, but still, it's a long drive.

So, with all of that being said ladies and gentlemen, I am more than pleased to announce that all of the arguments and debating can finally come to an end; sound the trumpets because we no longer need to concern ourselves with another referendum, Pierre's Poutine has given us resolve: a truly flavourful, Quebec style poutine, right in the heart of Ontario.

Pierre Lachapelle opened his small eatery in December of 2007 and it has been a staple for so many downtown dwellers ever since. Cleverly located on Macdonnell, right in the downtown bar district, the restaurant carries late hours for the after bar crowds, and I can think of no better way to fill that 3am craving. He has kept his recipe simple and pure and true to his routes in Montreal, with curds purchased straight from Quebec, fresh cut fries (trans fat free) and soy gravy. The ingredients may sound simple enough, but I would go so far as to say that there is an art to creating this dish perfectly, and Pierre has certainly filled the canvas well.

Further to offering that wonderful dance of fries, cheese and gravy, there is a wealth of toppings which you can choose to add to your plate, including Montreal smoke meat, peppers and onions, mushrooms and even pepperoni. In addition to this, he also serves "steamies", another Montreal staple, and incredibly delicious home made hamburgers, the recipe for which he keeps close to his chest.

With all that is offered on the menu I can honestly say you can't go wrong, about the only thing I can say about Pierre's that might shy you away is that the prices are higher than you'd expect them to be. With a small poutine ringing it at $6.99 you may not be so eagerly prepared to open the wallet, but I assure you the flavour is worth every penny and he does not skimp on the portion size; I'd be truly impressed if one person could finish a large on their own, a challenge I'd be willing to accept by the way.

So, whether you are Quebecois or Ontarian, set aside all you know about the lowered expectations of local poutine, there is no room for disappointment, and no need to make the five hour drive for a taste of home; simply head downtown Guelph and take in cullinary delights of Pierre's .

Pierre's Poutine

71 Macdonell Street

Guelph, ON

PS it should be noted here that the gravy is entirely vegetarian friendly.

The Soundtrack

It is raining outside. I love the rain. Though tempting it may be to stay inside on a day such as this, tuck into the couch with the comforts of unhealthy snack foods and watch movies, too many characteristics of a rainfall draw me from my television and into the outdoors.

There is a romanticism in the way it smells during a storm; the sweet aroma of fresh water reminds me of a new beginning for tired times. There is a refreshing look in the way everything shows itself through a different light; purples become more vibrant, leafy greens seem to coruscate from their branches and red tends to gleam beneath a thin layer of sparkling water .

Lightning filling the sky on the occasion of a thunderstorm is an unmatched sight, bringing the excitement of mild fear with the beauty of naturally occurring theatrics. I love the way people who come out in rainstorms, unbeknownst to them, are in better moods because of it, ducking into a store, drenched from head to toe, laughing with the person next to them about how "crazy it is out there". The weather gives us all something to talk about, regardless of unfamiliarity with our listeners. Above all else, however, what draws me most to the event of a rainy day is the many sounds it produces.

Standing on my balcony, listening to the echo of tin reverberate through the apartment, the same effect coming from the larger droplets hitting the cement, brings a unique complacence to my day. The sounds of kids running and playing in the rain reminds me of my own youth and playing in the streets, soaked to the bone and not caring because, hey, it's only water. My brother and I used to go so far as to make mudslides in the backyard during some of the more severe storms of memories past. Suddenly and without realizing it, listening to the sounds and reflecting on these things has made me smile; and while it would be admittedly awkward, strange, perhaps even certifiable for me to head out into the narrow field behind my complex and start rolling in mud, I am inspired just the same to seek out a soundtrack to this day and to this particular storm.

With water pelting against the windshield, wipers squeaking back and forth and radio off, I head into a direction not yet known to me, turning down a road that seems interesting and obscure. Strangely enough, I wind up next to a limestone quarry and the Guelph Humane Society, truly odd neighbours, and I park my car on the shoulder of the dirt road and get out, finding a narrow trail set back into the bordering evergreen forest. This is where I start my hike along Speed River.

As I head beneath the canopy of the trees, there is a serene wave of quiet. Not from the falling rain, but from everything else that still hovers so close by. For brief moments at a time I can no longer hear the traffic from the nearby Hanlon, but when I do, even that in itself seems pleasant as water bounces back from the road as the cars glide over it. In the moments of natural silence, with only the sound of light water trickling through leaves, the bright colours I had mentioned before seem to sparkle and shine just as I hoped they would.

Following the path I eventually emerge from the wooded area and when I do I am greeted yet again with the pleasantries of falling showers meeting flowing waters, the two becoming one and continuing on to a small waterfall, climaxing in a rushing wave of ambiance. Along this path by the water I continue, picking up more sights and more sounds that make the world pause for a moment. It is then that I realize not only has following my urge to both generate and trigger memories caused me to reflect, it has also brought me someplace new in this city, and so I keep walking, exploring, and listening.

Under and over bridges, through overgrown pathways and across muddy breaks in the trail, I finally I reach what I assume to be the end of my route at Speedvale Park, where Wellington and Edinburgh intersect. I've passed this park many times in my car and have always thought it would be a nice place for a stroll, yet out of sheer laziness I kept driving, barely giving it a second thought. With this in mind I ask myself "why stop here when I've nowhere to be and I'm not going to get any wetter?" so I cross the road and follow the path onward, still walking along the edge of the river.

A beautiful scene on any day, this path brings me to Royal City Park at Gordon, where I stop, take a seat and truly "soak" in my surroundings. Submerged in sight and sound, I allow myself to slip away for a while and honestly relax, in a way I've not done for quite some time. As I sit there in peace, I think of how Guelph is full of these rest areas and parks, and though I have explored a number of them, their identities change day to day simply by the people that inhabit them, not to mention by the changing of the seasons, which, because I'm still new to the area, I'm getting to explore for the first time now that the leaves are beginning to turn. Be it Speedvale or Riverside, the park areas of this city have impressed me every step of the way.

Only when the time feels right do I look at my watch and subsequently, after a good two hours of slow trekking, begin to question the backwards whereabouts and security of my car. Such is always the case when hiking: no matter how far you go and how many curious bends you peak around, you still need to turn and make your way back. I wish I had a bike.

Just as enjoyable as the walk inwards, the return journey offered me a new perspective and some comforting moments of deeper thought. It is in this spirit that, on a day like this, when gloom seems to be the aura and staying in seems the best laid plan, there is always the alternative to head out and see even the familiar areas of past travels in a slightly different light, with different people, different smells and of course different sounds. In doing so, who knows what memories you will trigger, what locales you will explore and what people you will run into.

Slowly drying off
-Phil

PS Given the dire consequences of mixing water and electricity, I have no pictures to share from this little adventure.

Picard's Peanuts

The chip nut, n. : a jumbo cocktail peanut, encompassed in a crunchy corn chip shell. Known to be incredibly addictive. Available in 16 flavour variations. Ideal around the card table, in lunch boxes, or in a bowl on your coffee table. Warning: tendency to disappear quickly.

Picard's was introduced to me by a friend at work who presented me with a bag of these things called "chip nuts". Upon trying my first sample I was hooked and needed to know where she got them. Expecting to be directed to the corner store or bulk food bin, I was both surprised and delighted to hear about a place that actually specializes in their production; I was excited to hear that it was in my own community. That night I stopped in on my way home and I've been back through their doors several more times over the past few weeks, leaving with something new each visit.

Though they have eight locations throughout Ontario, the one in which I have salted my cravings is in Morriston, just off highway 6 south outside of Guelph. The big blue barn located directly off the highway is hard to miss, and when you walk through the entrance, the first thought which comes to mind is "There's no way, this is all peanuts" but to make that assumption is to be somewhat wrong.

At first it's a little overwhelming, where does one begin in a barn full of peanuts? In which aisle do you take your first steps and peruse the vast selection of beer nuts, peanuts, peanut brittle, chip nuts, almonds, cashews, pecans, chocolate covered nuts, roasted nuts, peanut butter; allergy sufferers beware, this list goes on for days. With so many decisions in front of you, it might seem an impossible and daunting task to choose which variety to bring home, but the folks at Picard's seem to believe in the importance of knowing what you're buying before going through the till, and as such they have samples of everything available for you to try; and try I have.

Flavours range from plain salted peanuts to salt and vinegar, to wasabi, and habanero for those craving a little heat. No, correction, a lot of heat. I helped myself to a few of the habanero coated chip nuts and just about had a meltdown, so be forewarned. While every blend of flavour is enjoyable, my tastes have fallen for the hot chili and I've eaten my way through a number of bags already; I suggest you do the same.

Having become a staple in pantries across the province, their focus is obviously on the legume, but they do offer more than just peanuts. They also serve up fresh fudge, sponge toffee, and there's an ice cream counter at the front of the store. There are gift baskets ranging from all sizes, which they produce more of during the holiday season, and they have a wide variety of Swiss chocolate goods to make anyone happy. In other words, this place ingeniously fulfills every snack craving you could possibly encounter.

Picard's is a family run business, and has been producing local products for over twenty years now. They grow their own peanuts in Lasalette, Ontario, harvesting more than 90 acres of product each year at their own shelling plant (the first of its kind in Canada). From Fonthill to St. Jacobs, their name has carried itself through many happy communities in the province, with their newest location now open in Woodstock. Their products are very fairly priced, with a bag of peanuts averaging out at $2.99, and it seems they are constantly in the works of coming up with new varieties and flavour ideas.

You might not think a store whose focus and market relies solely on peanuts would be lasting or perhaps worth exploring, but I assure you by taking ten minutes from your day and stopping in, those perceptions will change and you will be thinking about which flavour you're going to try next. Whether you're hosting a party, baking through an afternoon, or you're simply in snack mode, Picard's Peanuts will be sure to serve all of your salty needs.

Picard's Peanuts

22 Queen Street,

Morriston, Ontario

with seven other operating locations.

http://www.picardspeanuts.ca/

Kate Schutt

The stage is set, for what I'm not sure, but there are guitars and drums and speakers and amps set up in the Annex side of The Red Brick. My thoughts are jaded and I feel as though my weekend has been a bust; such high hopes I had for the inspirations of jazz music and the people that deliver it. I so wanted to leave the streets at the end of my experiences, rush home and pick up my trumpet and crack into my CD collection so as I might jam along with the Monks, the Adderleys, and the Parkers of the jazz world. Instead, I sit in the middle of a quickly growing crowd, trying, through the difficulty of distraction, to organize my thoughts into a fair and accurate review of the Guelph Jazz Festival. But I lose focus before long, drawn from the blue light of my laptop, forced to shuffle myself down on the bench seats, making room for more people, and I switch my gaze to the performers gathering behind their instruments; to the spotlight on the girl with the guitar.

Kate Schutt, from Pennsylvania native to Guelph resident, is two albums deep into her career, has toured and recorded with an impressive and growing list of musicians and is gearing up for a gig at the Ouro Preto Jazz Festival in Brazil at the end of the month. She is professionally and institutionally trained on her instruments (I now want an 8-string hybrid guitar), backed by a family of musicians supporting her craft, and she writes her songs from the heart. She has broken radio waves, played impressive venues, and you may have seen her on Canada AM performing her bluesy and emotional "Take Everything" from her second studio release, Telephone Game. She is, without question, someone whose name I should have known before chancing upon her in a downtown cafe.

With that being said, these random, chance occurrences are some of the greatest discoveries we can make, namely because they grab our attention with no pretenses to let us down, not that her talents would ever have the ability to disappoint. In this event, however, as an unknown artist to me, from the first strums across the strings to the powerfully sweet lines of her first lyrics, Kate had me smiling; ear to ear smiling.

Playing many originals from both albums and putting her own spin on some familiar classics, she not only captivated and gracefully took the audience down a path with each song lyrically, she did it also with proficiency on her instrument. The improv skills, chord structures, visual emotion, tonality and the ability to make gentle silence a part of the music, was exactly what I had been so craving through the weekend; even by putting aside my affinity for a woman with a guitar, it was still a complete and totally captivating performance.

After her set, an extended applause and an encore into a heartwarming version of Patty Larkin's Coming Up For Air, she took the time to meet and greet with everyone in the audience; and while I patiently waited my turn, I couldn't help but take in the fact that an accomplished musician knew her audience by name and face. I've mentioned this ability to connect with a crowd before when I saw Christina Martin and Steven Bowers play here, and yet again that ability and dedication seems to blow my mind. There was no exception to this as I, a total stranger to her talents, finally stepped forward to make my introduction and thank her for the inspiration, expressing keen interest for an early encore (and I hope it comes soon). She was approachable, friendly and seemed to carry that same spark from her performance, which speaks volumes to the genuine nature of her music.

Telephone Game has been in my stereo ever since, and I've been enjoying its layers of sound and orchestration through each song and as a whole. There are moments of jazz, blues, some folk and even a little edge, as can be heard on the song Blackout, but no matter what the influence behind the songs, the album, heard in its entirety, is worth hitting repeat.

Sweet and passionate for her art not only behind the microphone, Kate Schutt is someone to continue listening for.

Thank you Kate, for giving me the jazz I was looking for.
-Phil

http://www.kateschutt.com/

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jl8xPy4bki0

Highly recommended listening:

Take Everything

You Can Have the Sky

Take Me With You

The Blackout

The Moon Got Broken

Raining

.....

Ah, just get both albums

The Guelph Jazz Festival

Friday - The Upset

On the first night of my adventures downtown, the only word that comes quickly to mind is disappointed. Albeit disappointed doesn't need to mean uninteresting, it's just a slight of expectations to what I know a jazz festival to be, or at least what my experiences in the past have taught me.

I started out by heading to a venue called The Outstellations. More a concept than an actual location, The Oustellations are comprised of a group of varying musicians, with varying influence and varying sounds at various locations throughout the city. While these concerts are free to the public, I still don't quite understand why free needed to mean lackluster.

The first of such performances was a group of musicians parading through the streets of downtown, playing to whoever happened to be in the most immediate vicinity. I can't say that they were poor performers or lacking in talent but it hardly wowed me or said "hey, I'm at a jazz festival". The second performance of the day was at the Royal City Park, located next to Speed River at the Boathouse; a perfect venue in my mind to set a percussion ensemble and drum circle.

When I parked my car near the area and got out, I expected to hear the sounds of an organized musical number, instead I could hear only the sounds of random clinking metal and the low random beat of some unrecognizable instrument. As I approached closer to the "venue" where a small crowd had formed, I realized that what was taking place was not so much a band or group but rather a free for all percussion in the park display. There were no instruments by conventional means; only the playground equipment, cleverly being used as the device on which anyone and everyone could grab sticks, pipes, kitchen utensils, you name it, and bang away to create music.

I am a person who loves the creative, enjoys the expression of art in all its forms and can even get into the idea that these organizers were presenting. Unfortunately, I found myself asking again "jazz festival?"

Watching the diminishing group of onlookers, I too was ready to make way to the next venue, after all the night was young, 7:30 by my watch. Unfortunately, that was it. There were no more events taking place. Nothing more for an adventure to take on. Definitely not a good start to the weekend's plans.

Buried somewhere in that first day of experiences, if I were to come up with some positive tones, the silver lining on which to convince me to head back into the streets on the following day, I can at least say these musicians were generating an interest in the younger generation who were more than happy to take part in a performance in the park. For them to realize that music can come from anywhere and has the ability to bring people together is something pretty special, even if, stylistically, it wasn't quite what I was looking for.

Saturday - The Mild Redemption

When you shut down part of a major downtown artery, seal off access to all cars, set up tents, food vendors and license the entire site, I consider the organizers of the festival redeemed for last night's experiences.

With a couple beer tickets in hand, we ventured down to the food tents, where unfortunately we had arrived a little too late; Ouderkirk and Taylor, who were helping to cater the event, were just taking down their booth, but at least there were still some other options for us to taste should the mood have struck later on.

Underneath the long row of strung together tents up the street were dozens of tables and chairs, all unavailable due to the crowds already enjoying a performance onstage. This was what I had expected a small city jazz festival to be. Lots of people enjoying an outdoor performance with plenty of local food and drink, and a group of artists bringing some flare to the evening.

The band, Jean Derome Évidence Trio + 3, continued to play on, and yes they did impress me, but something I couldn't pinpoint wasn't there. However, we took in the final song of their performance and sought out to take on another event; unfortunately (notice how that word keeps popping up?) there wasn't one. This was the only stage to watch, and the next band wasn't coming on for another half hour. Again, to find the silver lining, it was a beautiful evening and we were awarded the opportunity to relax with a few drinks amongst a fairly amicable group of strangers.

With other plans on the agenda, my company left before the next band came to the stage, and while I could have joined them, I was refusing to give up on the possibility of my impressions changing. When the group did finally take their place in the spotlight, I did my best to get into the groove of Odessa/Havana; and while I enjoyed their fusion of Cuban and Jewish influences, there was still something missing from what I love about jazz music: the band just wasn't into it. Sure, they were talented, entertaining to a degree, and played some great tunes, but they just weren't selling me on the event. I think of great jazz artists, of guys and gals who really get into their craft and make those passionate faces they'd otherwise be embarassed to make, letting loose on their emotions. It just wasn't happening.

I wound up leaving Saturday night feeling a little better than the previous night's park experience but still not fulfilled.

Sunday - Throwing in the Towel

Sunday's performance list started out with an interestingly orchestrated parade, starting at three points in the city and ending at St. George Anglican Church. Each group in the parade was comprised of musicians from different backgrounds; some percussionists, a brass group and then bagpipes. When they convened at the final meeting point, their trio of music came together for a final and complete piece. It was impressive, interesting, but only lasted fifteen minutes start to finish. While I was impressed with the execution of this event, it would have been nice to take in their combined talents and watch an actual concert.

It was at this point in my experiences that I nearly gave up, tossed in the towel and just wrote off the festival altogether. To be fair to the event, I didn't attend any of the paid venues and maybe they were what made the festival so enjoyable for many. But in my mind, and maybe my understanding is skewed, the word "festival" implies a celebration in the streets; something in which anyone can partake and enjoy for more than just fifteen minutes. A stretch of time where more than one event on more than one stage takes place so that you may travel your way along and take in different flavours, sights and sounds. It's an event that doesn't require you to pay the big bucks in order to see and feel the true nature of music. If my interpretation of this word is accurate, then perhaps the city should change their event title to The Guelph Jazz Tent.

Sunday - The Affinity

Bitter and beginning to organize my extremely dissapointed thoughts and reflections, I headed into the Red Brick around 1:30 pm, with laptop in hand. Had I not arrived thirty minutes before the event began, my weekend would have never recovered from the let down of the previous performances. I would not have had a seat right next to the stage and would have been forced to sit on the floor along with the dozen or so other patrons who simply could not get a seat for the show. I would not have something worth while and fantastic to write about. I would not have seen and met Kate Schutt. And I'm a sucker for a woman with a guitar.

More to come.

-Phil

Market Fresh Produce

In the wake of the Labour Day long weekend, the tendency for most is to pack up the car, load the cooler and head out on the road in search of that final summer adventure. While I am myself inclined to do exactly that, there are, as I've discovered, ways of enjoying an adventure simply by staying in the house, and it all starts with a few key ingredients.

Through my travels in overseas China, I was introduced to a famous local dish called hot pot. Many of you have heard me go on about this ad nauseam, and I remind you that I do so with just cause, however, for those readers new to the concept of hot pot, allow me to give you a brief run down:

In it's simplest form, think of a fondue, a pot of oil or broth in the center of the table into which diners place a various array of vegetables, meats and seafood; that's really all it is, the primary difference between Swiss fondue and Chinese hot pot is the spice, lots and lots of spice.

I can't possibly tell you how many times I overindulged on Sichuan hot pot, I just couldn't get enough of it, and so when I returned to Canada I had brought home with me a few packets of mix to fill my junkie cravings. While I was able to use most of them up with my friends and family, unfortunately the last of those packets expired before my chances. Well, with this weekend's intentions to gather amongst friends and share stories over this culinary experience, we were all but ready to admit defeat because of some silly expiry date, and so we placed our culinary minds, and dare I say expertise? into the grocery store and came up with what I feel to be a perfect and perhaps even better recipe for this most incredible dish.

Below you will find that recipe, and I encourage you to try it with as many friends as you can. At its Mongolian origins, hot pot was intended to use basic, inexpensive ingredients that could be easily transported and reused to feed many people at one time, and because of that, this meal became so much more than just a necessity for nourishment, it was an event that brought villages and families together. With no exception to that history, through the hours of eating, I was able to spend the best parts of my weekend learning about the lives of some of the greatest people I know. It's a communal bonding adventure and, again, I implore you to give it a try.

Ganbei everyone.

The Broth:
6 cups chicken or vegetable broth (that's two boxes if you use store bought)
2 stalks of lemongrass, bruised and cut in half
1 tbsp of Sichuan peppercorns - that's key, regular peppercorns wont work
1 tbsp of coriander seeds
2 star anise pods
2 tbsp soy sauce or Bragg's if available
1 navel orange, cut in half
1 package dried mushrooms - porcini, shitake, cremini work well
2 tbsp fresh, rough chopped ginger
6 dried chilies, more if you want to increase the heat

The Dip - a plate or bowl served to each diner:
2 tbsp peanut oil
1/2 tbsp chopped cilantro
2 tbsp chopped roasted peanuts

1 tsp MSG, if available

Hot chili oil to taste

The Eats:
various selections of veg and meats, individually skewered. Some of the best items I'd recommend: cremini mushrooms, hard-boiled eggs (quail if available), par-boiled parisienne potatoes, baby bok choy, sugar snap and snow peas, etc. Really, though, you can use whatever items you want.

The Process:
Bring the broth to a rolling boil and then reduce to a simmer to allow the flavours to develop for 15-20 minutes. You will need a portable burner or other device in order to keep the liquid boiling at the table. Place the broth in the center of the table and submerge your skewers into the pot until cooked. Once finished, dip into the peanut oil, cilantro and peanut combination and enjoy- careful, it's hot! I would also recommend reserving half of the orange, lemongrass, chilies and some extra dried mushrooms to add after the first hour of eating. The beauty of this pot is that the flavours will develop over time and by adding more aromatics later in the evening you are only going to reward yourself with a new flavour dynamic.

So it may not have been a weekend on the beach or at a campsite or in a cottage or other "adventurous" locale, but it was still one spent exploring the tastes of another country, the flavours of fresh, local foods, and the experiences and stories of good friends.

Sourcing out the food? My suggestion is to hit the market and just see what appeals:

Market Fresh Meat and Produce
10 Paisley Street

Guelph, Ontario

Their foods are kept local, always fresh, inspiring and very fairly priced; not to mention the produce tastes intensely like what it's supposed to taste like.

The Bakery and Goldie Mill

Two things occurred when I set out for breakfast this morning. First: I solidified my beliefs in finding one of the finest local bakeries to experience; and second: I got lost in the woods. Allow me to explain...

Opening the fridge only to find that there are no bagels left is a horrible way to start any day. The joy of toasted doughy goodness sandwiched around heaps of garlic and herb cream cheese is what really gets me going in the mornings, along side my java of course. A fan indeed but by no means am I a snob when it comes to the choice of brand. However, every now and then I want, or rather need, the fresh made aromatic qualities of a bakery select bagel, and not just the Dempster's I normally side with. Today being such a day, I made way back to The Bakery at With The Grain, a small and always busy store front at the corner of London Rd and Woolwich St here in Guelph. It's the kind of place that, once you step inside, you know you wont be leaving without purchasing something, anything. The fresh baguettes, daily loaves, brownies, butter tarts, cupcakes and, of course, bagels are all so enticing and guaranteed delicious.

Not impressed yet? Well, although you'd be hard pressed not to find that craving crusher, if they don't have what you're looking for, just ask, they will have it ready for you by the next morning. And if that still doesn't do it for you, well, after ten years of steady and growing business, their name in the community should. With more than just a bakery to their name, they also run a restaurant across the street, which is next to their specialty foods gift store, which runs at the same speed as their catering business. Yeah, they are busy. After my third visit to The Bakery I'm hooked, and I know that soon I must spend time in their restaurant/cafe; you can count on the review to follow.

Now then, with my bagel craving suppressed, I was able to head back to my car, which I had to park at the bottom of the hill because there simply wasn't room in their parking lot. This seemingly inconvenient event, however, proved to be rewarding in its own way.

Just at the bottom of London Rd, where it intersects with Cardigan St, there is a large gravel parking lot adjacent to a small park. Given that the weather begged to be enjoyed, I decided to meander my way through this park and do a little relaxing. Well, low and behold I should find myself at the grounds of the historic Goldie Mill ruins.

Built in 1827, the Wellington saw mill suffered the wrath of a tremendous fire in '64 (1864 that is) and was subsequently shut down and then purchased by the Goldie Family and rebuilt, until another fire destroyed it in 1953. When it was threatened to be plowed into a parking lot in 1976, the Grand River Conservation Authority purchased the site and it has been an historic landmark ever since.

It is not a large site to explore but it's still quite interesting to read the history and then gaze into the open yards and think about the events and lives that used to occupy the stone structure, I recommend checking it out for yourself someday.

After taking in the site for a few moments, I began heading back to the car when I spotted a trail drifting off into a wooded area next to the park's river; a perfect invitation.

As a fan of walking trails and running streams, this little path was quite the pleasure to explore. For the first stretch it served as a division between the residential background to my left and the rolling waters to my right, but eventually the populous disappeared altogether and I was immersed into a beautiful landscape of sight and sound. Don't get me wrong, there were still occasional reminders of the human world along the trails, but their presence was limited enough to enjoy some peace and quiet.

Unfortunately, after about an hour of walking, when I had reached the end of the path and turned around, I wound up losing myself momentarily in the bush and couldn't find the path again. The embarrassing part, and the part that you should know if planning to explore the area as well, is that this should not have been an easy thing to do, impossible even. The trail is pretty clear and admittedly I'm not sure what happened, suffice it to say that I veered from the trail to explore my curiosity of the unknown and was obviously not paying attention to my direction.

It was a neat little adventure and just one more small corner of Guelph I didn't previously know existed. And, needless to say, I found my way back without much difficulty and in hindsight am quite happy that, when I opened my fridge today, there were no bagels to be eaten.

So go ahead, explore for yourself, snap some pictures, grab a bagel or cup of coffee from The Bakery and enjoy a lunch break from work or bring the dogs down for a walk.

-Phil

The Bakery at With The Grain

http://withthegrain.ca/

294 Woolwich Street
Guelph, ON N1H 3W3

Be sure to check out their bread schedule so you know when to stop by.

The Fit and a Slight Return

In terms of recent memory, I can think of no period so drastically involving permanent change and the act of moving forward as in the past four days. With the Town of Milton officially fading from my map, I have found myself transfixed in a state of reflection on the events in my life that have brought me to where I am today. In a town where steady growth has overcome most of what I call familiar, and in a fit of nostalgic determination, I have focused intently over the past two days on gathering those fine memories and rekindling the joys of a child growing up in a small town. Not an easy task.

I speak frequently and cater this blog to stumbling upon the hidden gems and treasures and discovering a whole new world beneath your feet, and in doing that, memories just creep up naturally, as in The Bouncing Red Ball. In saying that, however, what I've discovered to be most difficult, is to purposely set out on a journey for these triggers. It seems that at every turn, the familiar houses of my friendly youth are now anything but; like the world decided to one day just move on.

The farmer's fields which lay behind what once was my home, for example, are now packed with bedroom community dwellings. The clay pits, once perfect for bike riding and gathering cool looking scars, are now much the same. The forest in which endless games of manhunt and flashlight wars is now, yet again, a packaged housing complex. At every turn, the natural settings that once let me be a kid are now full of brick and plaster and metal frames. With the exception of only a few spots that ring memorable and special to me, this is not remotely close to being the town I remember living in for so many years.

Town Hall, or more specifically the gazebo and courtyard at Town Hall, a place where many of my "high school firsts" were experienced, is still there but the trees into which countless teenage lovers had carved their names are not. If I don't remind myself of the purpose for this exercise, I fear a slight depression, so I move on and consider myself lucky for experiencing what I did and when.

Of all the places attached to my younger years, Rotary Park and the adjacent waters of the Mill Pond are likely in the best standing, and because of this I have found myself drawn to them on both days of my search.

The number of baseball games played on those diamonds is impossible to count, and the smell of the snack bar comes back to me almost as soon as I step out of the car. A few small details have evolved, such as the bridge and the waterfall at the back, but the "Stand By Me" train tracks where I used to squish pennies under the wheels of passing locomotives and the dock where we used to cast our fishing lines into the murky waters are both in almost the same condition as when I last set foot upon them (in hindsight, however, I'm thankful for never catching anything from that body of water).

Over the edge of the waters on which I used to spend my winters ice skating, a gazebo now rests, and the park benches along the path have been changed a few times over, but at its heart it is seemingly still the same place where we used to watch all of those fireworks light the sky on Canada Day.

For a man who is always urging people to try the new and move forward and keep taking in the excitement this planet has to offer, I know I'm speaking much about the past, but I feel just as strongly about that as I do the future. In The First Literal Translation I mentioned how the changes we see in places so close to home cause us to think more of how far we've come, and no time seems better to seek these changes than when one of life's chapters officially comes to a close. It has been amazing to realize that in such a short period of time, just as I have so suddenly grown up, so too has this town. And like all things that grow and change, they must carry with them the history of their upbringing, no matter how buried in the details it might be. It seems to me that when speaking of memories, perhaps their most beautiful and powerful quality is how immensely portable they are, you just need to know where to look.

Where a house is just a house, a home begs to be built.

-Phil

PS O&T now has their shipment of cheese curds in stock...Now that's a reason to party!