Indian Food and Inexplicable Bliss

Thanks to a wonderful upbringing, I was introduced to the phenomenon of exotic spices and un-American cuisine when I was very young. Sekisui, a Japanese restaurant that I’ve raved about in the past, was one of the first restaurants I was taken to when I was itty bitty. Obviously, it stuck. Another genre of food I came to love and savor from an early, early age was Indian food. When I was still in my purple velvet church dress complete with lace collar, white opaque stockings and kids size 13 patent leather pseudo-pumps, I remember sitting on my feet at Delhi Palace, reaching over the table for as much naan and as many veggie pakoras as my little hands could handle. Every Sunday after church we ventured out to this little hole-in-the-wall family-run Indian restaurant. And I can still taste that cucumber and yogurt dressing, which I have since learned is called raita. But back then, I didn’t care what it was called – all I knew is that anything and everything tasted better smothered in the stuff. A mantra I still believe to be true.

All this reminiscing can largely be blamed on a good friend of mine, Alex, and his wonderful find of a restaurant. Yesterday, Vic and I ventured out to Little India here in Montreal and, after getting the first whiff of cumin that hung in the air, decided to indulge ourselves. On Alex’s recommendation, we made a bee line to Delhi Bombay Curry and Naan, a tiny place tucked in among several other equally well-named restaurants of the same fashion.

Now. Before I continue with the actual meal, I must say the following: there is something about Indian food. I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it’s just that it’s been ingrained in my sensory memory from a young age or maybe there’s actually something magical in the combination of these ingredients, but my goodness. There is nothing like good Indian food. The spices, the smells, the infinite combination of flavors when all those lovely, complex sauces begin to drift together in the center of the plate. To put it simply: it’s comfort food like no other. But, as simplifying statements usually do, to chalk it up to comfort food seriously understates the actually “wow”ness of it all. As Vicky stated it last night, the flavors just don’t get old. No matter what ridiculously massive serving of curry you have in front of you, by the time you get to that last bite, it still tastes just as good as the first. Infinite newness. Constantly relearning. Please forgive my ramblings. It’s just that good. It brings it out in me.

On a normal day, Vic and I are what you would call light eaters. It doesn’t take much to fill us up. But put a mountainous pile of Butter Chicken and Lamb Curry and rice and naan in front of us and we’d come across like heavyweight champs loading up before a fight. What would normally take us a good two, maybe three sittings to finish we were able to put away in a matter of hours. Not even. Our whole time clocked at Curry and Naan was probably only an hour or an hour and a half. We were eating like our lives depended on it, only stopping to breathe occasionally and, of course, go on and on to each other about how life was good and how food with such flavor shouldn’t be legal, all the while struggling to stifle our inappropriate moans of delight. We were a sight to see, that’s for sure. We both had a thali, which is a large plate consisting of usually three or four portions different entrees. In other words, we both had a little slice of heaven. Topped off with a single gulab jamun, a South Indian dessert, which, needless to say, pushed me over the limit of excessively full (comfortably full was left behind loooong ago) into borderline food coma. But even though I felt about 10 pounds heavier when we finally were able to pull ourselves away, I was never too full. It wasn’t like the kind of full you feel after poutine. It’s such a happy full. A very, very sleepy full, mind you, but never uncomfortable. You just can’t be anything but happy after a meal like that, no matter how much you’ve forced your stomach to expand.

To sum up: It. Was. Astounding. New haunt added to the ever-growing list of favorites in this city. Thanks again to Alex for the tip! Clearly, we appreciate it.

Thoughts on the Cold

For the past few weeks since my return to Montreal, I’ve been pulling a lot of hermit-y days, which entails a lot of hot chocolate, thick socks, and the cape-like blanket pretty much as a constant throughout the day. It gets cold here, people. While a hot bath is a lovely remedy, unfortunately, it must come to an end sometime. Then you’re just wet and living under the false hope of fleeting warmth until your body is eased back into the cold reality of the situation. Worth it? Generally yes, but I can’t say I’ve never been tempted to just keep twisting that H knob and stay in the tub indefinitely.

Anyway, today, I had an early morning out in the cold. And something just worked. Usually, these days, going outside it just a necessity to get where you’re going. But today, it was the point. Granted, I did get several errands done that I’d been putting off with some cold-related excuse or another. But it was actually just lovely to be out in the cold. I dressed it right – not overly layered, but just right. I had the right kind of music going – no beautiful but haunting piano today, but what I’d consider driving music, which includes, unashamedly, top 40s, old school boy bands, the occasional Stevie Wonder song, and, a must-have, a song that’s actually called “People Should Smile More.” In other words, the unabashedly upbeat.

My face wasn’t so much chilled as it was invigorated. Nose still runny, feet still slipping and skidding, balance constantly shifting to keep myself upright. It’s the same old cold. Just with a different attitude. This post is not so much an attempt to inspire others but to remind myself to keep the positive slant to my point of view.

In Kids’ Terms: The Phantom Tollbooth

As everyone does at one time or another, I’ve recently been searching for new sources of inspiration to jazz things up. Something in this winter weather brings on a very “meh” feeling, and I’m sure I’m not the only one. Suffering from slight Seasonal Affective Disorder, I suppose. Regardless of the reason, I started on a happiness project of sorts a few months ago, greatly aided by my lovely friend Kat and the project she underwent not long ago. I followed her lead at first, picking up the Dalai Lama and Howard Cutler’s The Art of Happiness (which I’m still struggling through – not due to lack of interest or poor writing quality. It’s just not clicking, for some reason. It’s not happiness in practice, but in words and theory). I’ve also considered rereading Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat Pray Love. But my researching hasn’t been getting me very far. Recently, I’ve been slacking. And bam. Just as I stopped really looking for it, I found a book that brought back a simple and uncomplicated happiness I thought I had irretrievably lost. Turns out I was just thinking in the wrong terms.

Back at home, in my old room complete with bright sky blue walls and glow-in-the-dark sparkly butterflies on the ceiling, I decided to rummage through my childhood bookshelf. Among The Secret Garden and The Voyages of Doctor Doolittle lay my favorite book from those earlier years, Norton Juster’s under-appreciated The Phantom Tollbooth.

On a whim, partially motivated by the growing stack of books begun in earnest but essentially left to gather dust on my bedside table, I decided to bring Phantom back to Montreal with me.

A quick read already at a mere 256 large-print pages, at least 50 of which are spectacular pen drawings by Jules Feiffer, Phantom is without a doubt a one-sitting kind of story, thanks to the engrossing plot and witty story-telling. This is Milo’s story, a bright but uninspired boy, young but already jaded by seemingly pointless school lessons (learning to spell February or how to locate Ethiopia on a map), who gets whisked away to the Kingdom of Wisdom by driving his toy car through, you guessed it, a phantom tollbooth that magically appears in his bedroom, marked “FOR MILO, WHO HAS PLENTY OF TIME.” His adventure leads him to appreciate the subtle wonders of life, from Dictionopolis, the land where words reign supreme, through the Forest of Sight and the Valley of Sound to Digitopolis, land of numbers, on through the Mountains of Ignorance on his search for Sweet Rhyme and Pure Reason, princesses who had long since left this land.

Now, for those of you who’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a kid and need things spelled out for you, you may find this book patronizing and overly simplistic. But for those of us who need to be reminded of the simpler side of things, and the truly amazing power of words and numbers, sights and sounds, the risks of jumping to Conclusions or of never reaching beyond Expectations, this book serves as an eloquent and humorous reminder. Though the puns may be corny to some, if you just go with it and accept the simple play-on-word style as a kid would, then you’ve got quite book on your hands, and probably quite a smile on your face.

As my roommate can attest, I was bursting with laughter pretty much every few minutes. We’re talking loud, unattractive, sometimes scarily sudden bursts. It took me a while to realize it, but this was happiness. This is what I had been struggling to find in lofty and at times cryptic speeches of the Dalai Lama and here it was in a children’s book, requiring next to no effort. So with this wonderful story fresh in mind, I’ve decided to embark on a slightly different happiness research project than I initially intended. Instead of lofty philosophers, I plan to look to those brilliant men and women who have tried to convey life’s deepest mysteries and complexities to children. My mind immediately goes to A.A. Milne’s Winnie the Pooh series, as well as Carroll’s stories of Wonderland and of little Alice who finds herself there. While I’m sure I will find more than I will be able to get through, I’d love recommendations of kids’ stories that have made an impact, in one way or another. Starting with simple smiles, not profound existential definitions of this ineffable happiness we all seem to be searching for. That’s the way I want to go from here. The Phantom Tollbooth was a great kickstart in the right direction and in the right terms.

Piano Project: Update

So I went and got everyone excited a little over a month back about starting on a piano project, taking it day by day, trying to relearn chords, scales, and all of those beginner piano exercises. Suppose I should keep my eager readership in the know.

Well. Honestly, not as much to report as I’d like. Turns out scales aren’t exactly riveting. Let it slip a bit while I was home for the holidays, even though we have a beautiful, newly tuned piano back in Memphis. I think the hardest thing about playing at home was that I felt that I was playing for other people. Everyone could hear me! And scales aren’t crowd pleasers, either. So I stuck to the little snippets of songs I can play merely from muscle memory. True, practice is practice, but I’m trying not to skip steps and settle into my comfort zone. Gotta keep learning! Keep moving. Really trying to focus on sight reading these days. Not just counting lines and spaces but actually knowing on site what notes are in that chord on the page.

My parents got me two big books of beginner songs (one of some 120 Beatles songs arranged for the piano and the other of Disney arrangements – what can I say? They know me pretty well), so I’m excited to work on those once I work up to them.

Hopefully next time I’ll have more to report! Think I can use this whole New Years Resolution mentality hanging in the air to get my second wind.

365 (+1)

Happy new year, everyone!

I’ve never been one for resolutions. In my mind, they have a tendency to discourage more than inspire. However, this year, I’ve decided to take on a project that will take all 366 days of this leap year to finish. A simple photography project.

Now, I’m no photographer. Just because I have a nice camera doesn’t mean a damn thing. I am still struggling to figure out the incredibly basic ins and outs of my SLR that I got some 5 years ago. On top of that, I’ll probably resort to my iPod more than my Nikon. And in comparison to some of my wonderful friends’ photo masterpieces (like those of Jarré or Kat or so many others), I’m doing little more than finger painting with a camera. All the same, I’m giving this a go. What started as a project on the specific theme of happiness, an undertaking you can see Kat is taking on, I’ve decided to start off with just getting myself to take a picture every day. That’s a big enough challenge at the moment. While I’ll be keeping this theme of happiness in the back of my mind, as we all should, I expect the majority of these photos to be quite random. That being said, there may or may not be any philosophical tag line to any of these photos. So rather than overload this blog with potentially very random photos with little or no explanation, I’ve started a G+ album. However, to get you hooked, I will leave you with my first photo of the year, taken yesterday and with no specific meaning or artistry. Just a pretty detail.

Home for the Holidays

Oh Christmas Tree

Christmas morning with Sadie Mae

Christmas feast at the Englishes, complete with mimosa

Hope everyone out there had a safe and wonderful holiday season. Bring on 2012!

Memphis Eateries

Home for the holidays! And I must say, while Memphis is probably first and foremost known for it’s music legacy including Elvis, B.B.King, Jerry Lee Lewis, and, of course, Justin Timberlake, I’m here to talk about food. Surprise, surprise. Seeing a trend in my blog? Thought so. More hungry, less minstrel. At least for now. Following my stomach! And Memphis has a lot to brag about on the food front, but I’ll try to stick to some of my “must-visit” places.

First things first, I simply cannot find good Mexican food in Montreal. Which isn’t too terribly surprising when you think about where I’m coming from and the South’s relative proximity to this cultural sphere. Maybe my standards are too high, but I’d be content with a decent margarita, and good ol’ MTL has yet to deliver. Back home, though, this isn’t a problem. Went with my mom to a new little hole-in-the-wall place this time (new to me, definitely not “new” new) called Las Delicias. So. Yeah. Apt name for a restaurant. Little family run business where they make their own chips and squeeze fresh limes each day for their margarita mixes. Sooooold. The fact that their ‘ritas were ginormous also helped.

Another thing I have yet to find to my Memphis standard in Montreal is, surprisingly, sushi. Now, I have my little Iki Iki Sushi right downtown, but they’re really nothing to write home about. They tide me over, but it’s not the same. Sekisui has spoiled me. Okay – so I know we’re landlocked (aside from the muddy Mississippi, but sometimes it’s so crowded with pollution and brimstone that it pretty much counts as a landmass), but we have surprisingly good sushi. Any of my Vancouver friends might just roll their eyes, but I speak the truth. Sekisui’s sashimi may not be as fresh, but their rolls are inventive and just yummy. Somehow managed to take a picture this time before they were all gone.

While I could go on and on about food here, I’ll wind things down with barbecue (or bar-b-q as it’s usually seen around these parts). Can’t talk about eating in Memphis without talking about good ol’ pork bar-b-q, more specifically the world-famous Rendezvous. Now I say world famous and yet, unless you’re a food buff, you probably haven’t heard of it. But I can honestly say that’s a real shame. Their menu is covered in clever descriptions of their slow-cooked ribs. Their motto is, “Not since Adam has a rib been this famous.”  Their ribs are said to be “about as far as a pig can go in this world.”  ”If you’re looking for the meaning of life, this is something to chew on.” I love these guys. And this is just self-praise. The reviews only get better. The Rendezvous has been around since 1948 and is truly a Memphis landmark, and believe it or not, for one of the biggest Memphis tourist destinations after Graceland, it’s about as inconspicuous as a roadside diner, buried back in a back alley behind a Holiday Inn downtown. As far as the staff goes, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the older, saucier servers like Robert Senior or Big Jack came with the building way back when. Some have been working there for almost 50 years. BBQ in their blood at this point. Anyway, not much point attempting to describe the food. I’ve tried before and it just doesn’t cut it. Come and try for yourself. Seriously. Well worth the trek, I promise.

(Borrowed from their website, aptly named www.hogsfly.com – what else?)

If that has’t convinced you to visit, then I don’t know what will, except perhaps the allure of Elvis’ shimmering mansion/shrine of Graceland. And perhaps Sun Studio, a recording studio dubbed the birthplace of Rock ‘n Roll, a title that suits considering the long and sterling list of big name artists that laid down tracks there, like the King himself, the Man in Black, the Killer and countless others (also – if you don’t know who I’m referring to, you obviously need to visit ASAP). Memphis has quite a lot to offer. It’s nice to be home. =)

A Note on Le Comptoir

A few nights ago, while my family was in town for American Thanksgiving, we ventured to a new restaurant, Le Comptoir, which I had passed endless times, mostly on my way up to Dieu du Ciel or Fairmount Bagels, of course. Love having my parents up, for many reasons, but one of which is it gets me to experience new restaurants. I’m quite the creature of habit. Once I find a place I like, I have a hard time branching out. Call me unadventurous if you like. I prefer to think of it as … well, something not as negative as unadventurous.

Now, back to Le Comptoir, whose full name is Le Comptoir Charcuteries et Vins. I’ve had some fantastic meals in this city, but this one stands out and possibly even tops the list. This cute little bistro is built to serve not more than 25, maybe 30 customers at one time, and comes complete with open kitchen, counter (as would seem appropriate given the name…), and blackboard menu with a great variety. That plus the extensive wine list and incredibly friendly (not to mention knowledgable) staff makes this place a 10 in my book.

Blurry iPhone shot of Le Comptoir’s Open Kitchen

But let’s talk about the food. Because who doesn’t love food? Started with a cute little cold-cuts platter, made up entirely of sausages and patés they make in house, which is pretty impressive, topped off with a side of homemade mustard that was simply addictive. That and a wonderfully simple beet salad with goat cheese started the three of us off. Now, I need hardly tell you that by now, my parents and myself were pretty much purring. Great glass of wine in hand and these starters… Yep. We were good to go.

On to the main event! I myself am generally not much of a fish fan when I head out to bistros such as this. My weakness is definitely steak in any shape or form, but once I heard this topping for their halibut, I just couldn’t resist. Cucumber, feta, sour cream, mint, and dill… Um, yes please. And it didn’t disappoint. If anything, it surpassed my almost absurd expectations. Second glass of wine. Tantalizing tastes of my Dad’s short ribs and my mother’s roast cauliflower with a red wine vinegar reduction. I think I speak for the group when I say, it took some serious restraint not to lick the plate.

As if we needed more convincing that this was a tip-top resto, we indulged in a little dessert. Again, not much of a sweet tooth generally, and normally I’m far too full for any kind of anything after a meal like this, but I was on a freakin’ cloud. I would have said yes to a root canal at this point and still have had a smile on my face. The white chocolate and cream cheese tart topped with poached peaches was anything but a root canal. Quite the opposite, in fact. Every tooth and taste bud was lulled into a sugar-induced dream on a pillow of happiness. And that’s really not much of an exaggeration, folks.

Let’s just leave it on that note. Cannot wait to go back. Open for lunch and dinner until midnight and surprisingly inexpensive – all main courses under $20. Adding a new haunt to my regulars! Now the trick will be branching out from the amazing menu I settled on this last time…

Folk in Montreal

Back in June, Vic and I ventured out to the Lachine Canal, out near our first year rez, to check out a very picturesque Folk music festival. With the summer sun behind us and wonderful folk jam sessions and covers of the classics in our ears, we were pretty blissful. Needless to say, I not only bought several CDs from the local artists playing but also joined a mailing list.

PicNic withVic in June, Folk Fest on the Canal

Who knew there were shows happening almost every week? I mean, in Montreal, you kind of expect it, but all of a sudden I had a list covering some 4 months of the cream of the crop in the folk scene. This mailing list led us to Garnet Rogers, which was clearly a hit, and just this past Wednesday, we got to go see Lake of Stew and Old Man Luedecke.

So seeing the Old Man’s name on the set list was a guarantee. A year ago, a neighbor of mine suggested we go check him out, not knowing what to expect at all, and before you know it, we were hooked on his witty lyrics and virtuosic banjo and guitar playing. All alone on stage, he kept things very lively with his energetic time-keeping with the heel of his boot on the hollow stage. Even his ballads were engaging and at time heart wrenching. This show last Wednesday did not disappoint, even though I’d been building it up in my head for months.

But Lake of Stew might have stolen the show. They were a complete surprise. And incredibly impressive. 6 members in total with at least 10 instruments between them, not to mention 5 out of the 6 led the vocals throughout the course of their set. Very old school bluegrass feel, including washboard, jaw harp (the name of which I had to look up – also called jew harp or mouth harp… who knew?), and washtub bass. The variety and the tight harmonies made them instant winners in my book. Seriously, check them out here. Lake of Stew actually just recorded an EP with Old Man Luedecke, which I highly recommend. Quite a stellar combo. Go download it FOR FREE right here. If you’re at all a friend of folk, do yourself a favor and check them out!

Piano Project

Last Sunday, riding high on piano fumes from the night before, I bought a keyboard.

I grew up learning bits and pieces of music theory from my sister, but even then I really just picked things up by ear. Never really did the whole piano classes scene, at least not for any significant period of time.  When I left home for school, I’m sorry to say what few skills I had gathered fell into extreme disuse. So I’ve started a new project for the chilly months ahead. I’m starting from the beginning. After spending the past 2 months waking up to someone banging out the one French Christmas carol they know over and over again on the piano in the apartment above, I’m ready to get my revenge. Haven’t advanced up to Christmas carols just yet, but they’re getting their fair share of chords and scales, lemme tell ya. Keeping myself sane and focused with the few songs I have in the ol’ storehouse, but the point is to really understand this instrument for a change. Learning how to read music without a hesitation. Recognizing key signatures. I’ve got the lingo, but not the know-how. Time to put it into practice.

So far, so good. Slow going for sure, and I’ve actually brought out the flash cards to help with sight reading, but the excitement definitely outweighs the whole feeling-like-a-second-grader feeling, even though I’m still working out a few kinks in “When the Saints Go Marching In.”