Linen + Plastic

Two types of tablecloths grace my dining room table, depending on my mood. On this blog I write about all things food, some fit for foodies and others ripe for roadies.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

MoRoCo: Chocolate Restaurant

[This piece written during Toronto Film Festival in September 2009]

Throngs of teenagers waited at both entrances to the Four Seasons hotel, cameras and camera-phones in hands, hoping for a glimpse of some heartthrob in town to promote his latest flick. My wife and I wondered whom they were expecting, but continued our stroll through Toronto’s tony Yorkville neighborhood without asking. Trendy restaurants with waterfalls and heated patios lined the streets. We were thinking about food, but not especially hungry. And then I saw the sign—MoRoCo, a chocolate boutique and eatery.

We had our pick of white leather couches and chaise longues on the patio. The view wasn’t much—some foot traffic and the backside of another building, but to be outside under propane lamps in the early autumn night made up for it. They furnished us with fleece blankets, but the lanterns warmed within minutes.

There may have been a menu of regular food, but I ignored it. The dessert carte was full of sweet dishes made out to resemble savory ones: spring rolls, cheeseburgers and fries; other elaborate preparations bore fun names such as "Kiss Me Kate" and "At the Movies."

My interest lay only in the fondue and facing down the terrible challenge of deciding between dark and milk chocolate or going for broke with “The Holy Trinity” (those two plus white chocolate). There was also a ‘Smores option, complete with miniature campfire. But I was in the mood for fondue. We settled on the dark Valhrona.

Our fondue came out in a white porcelain vase on a glass tray, surrounded by homemade marshmallow kisses, thumb-sized madeleines, strawberries, bananas, and pineapple. I could have eaten the chocolate with a spoon, but played by the rules and used the dainty fork to bathe thoroughly each morsel in satin-smooth chocolate.

My wife asked for hot tea and the waiter emerged with a rack of test tubes, each tube containing a few ounces of the various black, green, and herbal choices. She selected Garden of Eden, described on the menu as “Japanese green tea blended with raspberries, blueberries and strawberries” while I selected Cream of Avalon, an Earl Gray variant featuring caramel and vanilla hints atop the bergamot. Our teas arrived in grand pewter kettles with dainty tea-cups and metal filters to strain the tea prior to drinking.

And a special side treat to accompany each teapot: fresh macarons from the boutique. Hers a simple vanilla, mine peanut butter and jelly. As my teeth sunk into the cookie, I voyaged to Paris: First Flush Darjeeling at Mariage Frères, sipping-chocolate at Angelina’s, and macarons at Ladurée. Who knew I could find all that in Toronto?

MoRoCo
99 Yorkville Avenue
Toronto, Ontario
http://www.morocochocolat.com

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posted by Linen+Plastic @ 1:32 PM 1 comments

Monday, February 8, 2010

First Encounter with Salad

I was a picky kid. And hyper-active. Early in my formative years, my parents gave in to my persnickety demands in tit-for-tat exchange for my remaining calm at the dinner table. Meat, cheese, cereals, and starches were almost universally tolerated; vegetables an inconsistent story: peas, corn, and broccoli – yes; carrots, cauliflower, and turnip – no. Salad? Definitely not.

My mother tried every trick. She made that classic argument about tomatoes—"if you like them in ketchup and spaghetti sauce, how could you not love them plain?" I was unconvinced. She added cheddar to the salad bowl, but I was unyielding. Then, a moment of genius—she found a hearty, tomato-based Russian dressing that came as close to barbecue sauce as any salad dressing could. At that age, I believed everything was better with Bullseye.

She made her pitch: "Just try it, and if you don’t like it, you don’t have to finish it."

She thought she had the problem licked.

I remember the scene in detail. In the living room, on a TV tray, instead of at the dining room table. Early for dinner, sun shining through the picture window. A small bowl of iceberg. Diced tomatoes. Wafers of cucumber. Globs of blood-red dressing that matched her description in hue and aroma--it could have been smeared on spareribs. I remember being tentative, fearful I might lose the battle and admit salad to my dining repertoire.

The first bite was a surprise, the dressing a perfect match to my tastes. The lettuce wasn’t half-bad, either—a curious texture, crisp and clean, rather bland but definitely not awful. Cucumbers I already liked; slathered in near-barbecue sauce they tasted fantastic. And the tomatoes… interesting. My stomach did not turn.

Mom waited at the edge of her seat.

I bunched up my face, proclaimed my distaste, and pushed aside the plate.

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posted by Linen+Plastic @ 10:30 PM 0 comments

Sunday, February 7, 2010

My Semi-Secret Pleasure: Barbecue Shake ‘N Bake

Throughout my formative years, Mom employed the full suite of Kraft Shake-N-Bake products. My personal favorite was the barbecue chicken: tangy and teetering on the edge of spicy, entirely unlike any bottled sauce I knew.

Fast-forward to my late twenties and one of my first meals with my future in-laws. What's for dinner? Original recipe Shake 'N Bake chicken breasts. Though hardly gourmet, it was relatively satisfying. A week later, while strolling the aisles of Hannaford Bros. in mid-coast Maine, I spotted a box of the barbecue glaze and could not resist the urge to test whether my childhood preference had endured or expired.

Sure, I know it's mass-produced and stuffed with chemicals whose names I cannot pronounce (apologies to Michael Pollan), but I suffer small moments of Proustian rapture every time I scrape excess glaze from the baking pan with the tines of my fork. The taste balances the paired stings of mustard seed and vinegar with multiple forms of sugar (miraculously, none come in the form of High Fructose Corn Syrup). Cooked properly, the pink powder melts into a smooth, tacky glaze worthy of the name. And it is tough to beat the ease of preparation: tear the brown paper pouch, pour into a durable plastic bag, rinse the chicken, shake to coat, and cook at 350F for ~19 minutes.

The problem is availability; none of the grocery chains in Massachusetts stock this flavor though they feature ample supplies of the original recipe (my wife's preference) and numerous variations I do not endorse –- ranch, Italian, and parmesan.

I turned to Amazon ("Amazon Grocery" -- who knew?). Three exuberant, five-star reviews prove I am not alone in my devotion (and frustration). Under the title "Awesome!" C. Schuchman mourns: "For some reason they stopped selling this in stores in Fort Worth." Meanwhile, according to Viccki from San Fran: "It's perfect for company because it is unique...I am always afraid that they will stop making it." Me too.

Two cases (that's 32 meals at $1.10 each) arrived at my apartment two weeks ago. My friends, especially those who count themselves foodies, laugh at the glaring eccentricity of my diet—duck confit with braised lentils on Wednesday, Shake N Bake on Thursday, heirloom tomatoes and baby arugula with imported pecorino on Friday.

Eccentric or not, I was pinched for time last evening and hungry for something
savory. I shook and baked and was not disappointed.

CORRECTION: This post originally drafted in November 2009; upon searching Amazon today, no barbecue glaze in stock at Amazon. Thank God I have another box in my pantry. More to follow.

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posted by Linen+Plastic @ 4:09 PM 0 comments