Archive for the 'Food Culture' Category

Thoughts on Our Daily Bread and Prison Farms

our daily bread chickens

Recently watched Our Daily Bread, a German documentary on modern food production from a couple years ago, and had mixed thoughts — which is really my preferred reaction to most issues and life in general. I found it to be both revolting, ugly and beautiful — poetic - the juxtaposition of repetitive and rhythmic work required to feed us, the shiny metal machines slicing through countless pig and cow carcasses, workers, human machines on their own, ripping out the guts out of animals continuously for hours in repetitive motions, the skinning of the carcasses by machines, constantly rotating…thousands and thousands of animals passing through slicers and cogs and rolling carpets, workers injecting semen into pigs by hand, and than the very same workers on their breaks eating their lunch (what looks like a ham sandwich in one case), on a smoke break, or workers riding a bus to get to work was a nice parallel.

our daily bread lunch break

I felt my body ache watching people do the back breaking repetitive labour required…watching workers crouched in lettuce fields, picking, bagging and placing packaged lettuce ready for the supermarket in crates in front of them monotonously, that slid into a moving truck car, with a plastic covering over the labourers with lights above so they could work throughout the night.

our daily bread spraying greenhouse

And this brings me to prison farms — CBC featured this story. Canada has 6 prison farms in the country but they are being shut down next year by mandate of the Conservative government. Which is a shame.

Proponents, like Margaret Atwood, advocate that prisons farms are great for inmates, allowing them to be productive, grow food for themselves, learn skills, earn a bit of money, and give them an opportunity to give back to the community via donations of the food they donate to food banks. A damn shame. This demonstrates a move away from focussing on rehabilitation and a move towards prison complexes à la United States. Having once volunteered with former prisoners in a small greenhouse, packaging sprouts for a food organization has shown me how effective and positive these type of programs are. I remember the camaraderie and pride shared by the men in being able to collectively grow sunflower and pea sprouts for consumption and how these skills would make them more employable in the future. It’s a tough sell though, many people do not feel any particular compassion for people who commit crimes, regardless of the circumstances or nature of the crime, preferring to see the world as white or black, good or bad. Which boggles my mind. CityFarmer lists the various reasons why we should save our prisons farms a lot more eloquently than I.

On that note, this reminds me of another story about Riverdale Farm. According to Sunday, Riverdale Farm ( read Lauren Archer’s post about the history - so fascinating!) and the land that stretches out all the way to the former Don Valley Jail used to be a prison farm back at the turn of the 19th and beginning of the 20th century, mostly inhabited by Scottish and Irish debtors aka poor people. This is apparent by the style of some of the resident houses at Riverdale Farm(particularly the former morgue– which is now the Resident House), some of the buildings’ scaffolding having brick designs layered in a particular style that is reminiscent of Scottish architecture. The prisoners were worked to death then though…

I suppose I am bias. I think we should have gardens everywhere, schools, community centres, malls, apartments, houses, parks, hospitals and various public and communal spaces — but I see the social benefits every day at work — especially as I have gotten to know many of the children in the past couple of years.

You wish I had my camera

I can’t find my camera which is too bad.

I picked up some live scallops from Kensington Market (after eating a selection of shucked oysters outside New Seaway) as a treat. I’ve never bought them before to make myself.

Somewhat improvising the following will be my dinner:

1 . Live scalllops baked in the oven with panko flakes, grated Asiago cheese, and a healthy dollop of butter. I just put them in the oven.

2. Inspired by the Charlie’s company (a war term?!?!) hotdog served at Disgraceland on Bloor, I am making a grilled pork hot sausage in a bun topped with kim chi from P.A.T. Central, grated carrot, shredded 5 year old cheddar, Sriracha chili and cilantro.

I think my appetite is coming back! I even had my reoccurring dream last night where I am visiting France and I make a purposeful trip to the grocery store so I can buy my favourite French dairy products and saucisson. I had a detailed dream where I am eating this delicious vanilla pudding with chantilly.

Tonight I am going to watch a French-Italian film from 1973 called “La Grande Bouffe”. It’s about a group of rich men who rent out a villa for a weekend, invite prostitutes over and resolve to eat themselves to death after having group sex. Or something.

Buffet Bonanza

Baby's first buffet

On Saturday my family celebrated Matthew’s one month old birthday. My cousin Thuy and his wife Jane held a baby shower so that friends and family could meet the little dude with the funniest face. He looks like a puppy. A human puppy. Very cute!

Because there was so many of us, at least 90 people, it only made sense to have this event at an Asian buffet in Richmond Hill aka the 905. This is where buffets reign supreme. I will say it’s a bit daunting and dazzling if you take a moment to ponder the number of different species you can eat at a buffet. It is a game I play. My count was at least 18 different animals that night. My usual thoughts and considerations about sustainable and local eating were forced to be on hold.

Buffet

I avoid buffets now, but going to one was a lot fun and very nostalgic.

When I was young, when we were not frequenting Chinese or Vietnamese restaurants, my extended family on my father’s side occasionally went to buffets. Sit down dinners of mostly the Western variety was not an experience I had much of. Try getting 12 aunts and uncles, plus their spouses and significant others, 20 first cousins, plus their spouses and significant others, to the table.

You see, my father’s family, eats an enormous amount of food. I am talking vats of noodles and soup. I do not think I have seen a man or woman eat as much as some of my uncles. Going to buffets allowed everyone to be full and content, for a set price, as going to a normal restaurant was a bit of a risk - of not satisfying people’s appetite, of having to spend more than one could afford, of not being able to provide and losing face.

buffet seafood

It was a treat to go. My mother would regale over the idea of eating “all-you-can-eat” seafood. Now, not all buffets are created equal, so part of what made a good buffet (oxymoron for some I am sure) was what seafood they had as offerings. Another determinant, and a counterbalance to the quality of the food, was the price. Going for lunch or dinner made a difference.

I remember this one time, when I was about 10 going with my cousins and our parents. I was the eldest and thought it would be fun to eat whatever made up concoction my cousins and brother offered. I was brave and wanted to show off - that I had a steely stomach and could eat whatever. So with eyes closed Anh Thi put a spoonful of something in my mouth.

posing buffet styles

And I choked. I still remember the taste in my mouth. Imagine a mixture of hot sauce, fish sauce, soy sauce, noodles, rice, some meat, strawberry ice cream, and what tasted like peanut butter - whatever it was it was velvety, hard, chewy and liquid all at the same time. It tasted like spicy hot vomit.

Generally at a buffet, I’d eat myself so full, I was uncomfortable. There were many moments where after eating, I’d clutch my stomach in absolute agony. Having eaten myself physically sick. I remember one time, having to excuse myself so I could go lie down in the backseat of the family car, feeling as though I’d been punched repeatedly in the stomach by Mike Tyson, feeling that I just might die of gluttonous blows. Feeling like my stomach would burst and my dead body would be found, guts exploded all over the backseat.

Continue reading ‘Buffet Bonanza’

little indulgences

Coming home one night, with not much to eat, as we hadn’t gone food shopping in weeks, I took out a can of foie gras, BLOC DE FOIE GRAS DE CANARD, that was sitting around in my fridge, a gift from my French relatives that my mother handed to me one time I came to visit a couple years ago. It has been sitting guiltily in my fridge - as I wasn’t sure whether to consume it or give it away. My French childhood memories of eating the luxurious item clashing with my knowledge of the controversial production of said item.

In the end I didn’t want to waste it - as it was to expire later this year. And felt a little homesick for my French family. So I say to justify my hunger.

And so as a last minute dinner idea, I smeared butter on a slice of crusty baguette, added a dab of foie gras and topped it with a boston lettuce leaf. I ate maybe 7 or more, the last three having turned into mini foie gras and lettuce sandwiches, two baguette slices haphazardly coddling rich items. A crumb of foie gras fell off one of my slabs and onto the kitchen floor, which my cat ate up before I could do anything about it,

Firsts

Eco Club cookingLast week I started this cooking program that I initiated at work with middle school students. We made lasagna “almost” from scratch, and a salad with homemade dressing. It was challenging, and there were some setbacks, however overall it was successful — although some remarked that the dressing was “too lemony” — they ate it up, the salad and lasagna.

While we ate I asked if they felt they could make the lasagna at home now. And they all said no. My heart sank a little, but I realized after telling Lara, who said: “Did you learn to cook well in one lesson?” — that I had unrealistic expectations. I certainly did not. Why should I expect these 12 and 13 year olds to be confidant and sassy in the kitchen after one workshop when they had little independent cooking experience?

Eco Club cooking

The following evening I attended my first hip hop class. My first dance class. I’ve never taken dance lessons. The closest was one gymnastic class, one session I took when I was 6 in France. I had hopes of taking dance lessons afterwards - but then my family moved to Canada and my parents could not afford to enroll my brother and I in any extra-curricular activities. I’ve been wanting to go for a really long time but did not have the courage to. I’ve never really seriously articulated it, only in jest, nor have I pursued it. I found out Anne Marie was going and she invited me to tag along with her - giving me enough incentive to actually follow through.

Continue reading ‘Firsts’

slow food fermentation style

I put the slow in slow food.

Why?

Because I am possibly the slowest (and somewhat meticulous) vegetable cutter or slicer. Seriously! Ask my friends and lover(s). Food projects take me a long time to undertake, which can be a downer when the outcome is not so great (beef jerky=winner, sour pickles=downer).

My fermentation projects, sour pickles aside, have been successful. I made sauerkraut following Sandor Katz’s Wild Fermentation book in the summer, which I love a lot by the way, using cabbage from Tony’s farm, dill, garlic and black peppercorns. And it turned out quite terrific if I do say so myself.

homemade sauerkraut

I’ve never really been a fan of sauerkraut to be honest until I made my own. My mom, eclectic cook that she was, used to make sauerkraut and boiled potatoes and sausages for dinner, her ode to Germanic cuisine. And I wasn’t really a fan of the sour combination that came from store bought jarred sauerkraut. Homemade sauerkraut tastes alive with its tangyness, tickling the tongue, and as it ages continues to change.

My newest lactid acid creation is root kimchi (or a type of panchan, Korean side dish) which I made with daikon, carrots, turnips, Jerusalem artichockes, as well as garlic and green onion tops, late autumn relics from my garden.

fermentation goodness

Both of these took me awhile to prepare in my usual fashion (I gave up on the mandolin since I almost always nearly slice myself) and I also let those sit out for over 8 days. Salt is magic, bringing out the brine and creating fermented goodness. Soy sauce, fish sauce, sour pickles, miso! So delicious! The fact fermented foods are healthy is secondary to me. I also love the idea that fermentation is a practice that is thousands of years old, as I have always romanticized ways of preservation, noting that climate and temperature, the environment are huge factors in the final product. As Sandor signed my book, “Fermentation Fervor Forever!”

Root kim chi

Yes indeed.

passed down histories

For quite awhile now I’ve been thinking a lot about family histories and the immigration experience and how disjointed different generations can become. A lot can be lost. Language, stories, practices and traditions. Beliefs. I’ve always been jealous of friends and acquaintances who are able to recite their family history and who have a good sense of where they come from and who know their ‘family traditions’. One thing in particular that sticks in my mind, and also my belly and taste buds no less, is family recipes.

In the last while I’ve been mindful of the fact that a lot of recipes and foods I’ve grown up eating at family gatherings are at risk of being lost after my parents & aunties & uncles’ generation dies off. In my father’s family none of my cousins can really cook, and definitely not Vietnamese foods. Only one of my cousins in my father’s side of the family, out of 20 or so, can. Morbid as I am, I’ve been wondering, after our parents die, who will be making the banh xeo, the thin yellow pancakes filled with bean sprouts, shrimp and pork? The sup cua maw, the crab and fish egg soup? The goi, ’slaw’ salad of pickled carrrots, onions, daikon, shrimp and slivers of pork ear?*

I’ve made a vow to learn many of the dishes I’ve been eating for years and years in hopes I can become a guardian, a custodian of family recipes.

Continue reading ‘passed down histories’

Making making salads fun!

The children visited the farmers’ market today. They got to ask the farmers questions, as well as buy a few items to make a salad.

A variety of greens and mushrooms from the farmers’ market, an assortment of herbs picked from the garden, freshly grated parmesean cheese, and black locust flower blossoms foraged from Riverdale park: Delicious!

Sometimes

Sometimes dinner entails eating half a can of smoked oysters and a bowl of Zoodles. I wonder what sort of cravings I’ll have if I ever get pregnant with child.

Picking memories - Found foods

clove currants!

Clove currants, better than blueberries or Saskatoon/service berries!

I woke up this morning remembering something I had totally forgotten about. Something in my sleep might have triggered this memory I am not sure. It was so hazy and fleeting I had to call my parents to make sure I was not making this up.

I was probably around 9, a couple of years after my family had immigrated to Canada from France. It was a beautiful warm autumn day, the sunlight soft, the trees still green but on the cusp of turning colours, my family went to G. Ross Lord park, near Dufferin and Finch. My uncle, who had immigrated to Canada a bit sooner than us with his family from Vietnam, knew of a ‘wild’ pear trees in the park and had recommended we go. So we did. My brother ran around and raced between the trees, and we picked the green unripened pears. I remember my dad giving me a boost, lifting me up, so that I could reach and get to the fruit up on a tall branch.

I also remember one summer when Co Hang used to take my brother, my cousins and I to the library in the Jane and Finch area, and how behind the public library building, there would be wild raspberries bushes growing in the foreground. We’d pick a few of the ripe and fragrant berries as a treat. I remember going back, a few years later, and not being able to find these bushes or fruit.

And so it goes that I remember years ago taking a short cut to the beach in the Côte D’Azur, south of France, with my cousin Denis, and sucking on the ends of these white flowers freshly picked from vines on a climbing fence. The floral nectar tasted sweet. Denis would also pick shellfish from the sea, small sea snails, and eat them raw to gross me out. We’d see discarded empty sea urchin spiny shells, the flesh having been consumed illegally, by passer-bys. We’d see sea urchins in rock crevices, waves of sea water, keeping them wet, but respectfully chose to abide by the law.

Another memory I have of living in France, is of going on a hike in a forest in our town with my class at the age of 5, and picking chestnuts off the forest floor. We took them back to school and the teacher roasted them for us to eat. To this day I still think they were the best chestnuts I’ve ever consumed.

I also have a memory of going to Cedar Glen and eating these fuzzy red sour berries which came in huge clusters in shrubs. Someone had handed to me the small fuzz balls and told me to chew on them to get to the flesh inside, which were tart. It was only years later, recently in fact, that I learned that the “berries” were sumach (or sumac) and harvested into a middle eastern spice that can be found in za’atar, a delicious spice mixture that I love to bake onto flatbread.

Essentially these memories and experiences only confirm to me that there are many public found food procurement opportunities in urban and rural settings, and while many people in the city often indulge in these practices without fanfare, I am not sure how many don’t. Found food projects, such as the Fallen Fruit project in Los Angeles, are quite excellent and exciting because while the idea of being able to find food sources in urban settings is nothing new, they may inform people who have not had the opportunity to pick for whatever reason. There are numerous unofficial public food sources in cities, villages and towns, and while overall I see the benefits of “officiating” and mapping such sites, I can’t help but also think there’s a certain appeal to keeping them unofficial and on a need to know basis, for people to sporadically come upon some delicious treat on their own.

(Alternatively, although not quite found food as I envision, Not Far From the Tree in Toronto has been facilitating group pickings from fruit tree owners who have more growing on their property than they can consume. One of the best things about the organization is that a certain portion is donated to neighbouring community agencies, as well as the volunteer pickers and homeowner getting a share.)